Queen of Air and Darkness
by lepolemicist
Summary: He might be the greatest swordsman in the world – but one man with blade in hand cannot change the arc of history, and killing alone does not bring about victory. Instead, Jaune Arc must learn to reason, to doubt, and to know himself – so that the Witch may be outwitted, and the apocalypse she seeks, averted.
1. Prologue - Edge of Infinity

**Summary**: He might be the greatest swordsman in the world – but one man with blade in hand cannot change the arc of history, and killing alone does not bring about victory. Instead, Jaune Arc must learn to reason, to doubt, and to know himself – so that the Witch may be outwitted, and the apocalypse she seeks, averted.

-(=RWBY=)-

_And then I will rest, and listen to the silence sing to me  
__of peace and tranquillity,  
__and a world liberated from suffering,  
__delivered, from misery._

-(=RWBY=)-

**Queen of Air and Darkness  
**Prologue  
_Edge of Infinity_

-(=RWBY=)-

It was the dead of night, and the sky was devoid of sun and shattered moon alike – but even so, the heavens were far from dark, as Beacon Tower blazed with light, its golden radiance burning away the darkness of night.

Beyond the cliffs of the academy, the Emerald Forest stretched as far as the eye could see, silent and deadly and deceptive in its tranquillity – giving no hint at all that come first light, students would need to fight for their lives.

Placing his left foot in front of his right, Jaune Arc raised Crocea Mors above his head, and started to practise the art of the blade.

He set the scenario.

_One enemy, three meters ahead. A large, well-built boy, armed with a mace. He's used to intimidated opponents taking a defensive stance and ceding the initiative to him. That his enemy would – or could – strike first is an idea utterly alien to him._

_A misconception, to be sure, and in battle, misconceptions are __**fatal**__._

Jaune kicked off the ground with his right foot. Propelled forward, he brought his sword slashing down even as he simultaneously pushed off with his other leg. With a lunge, he closed the distance in the span of a breath, and his hypothetical enemy found his head cut open before he could even react.

Jaune reset the scenario.

_One enemy, three meters ahead. A girl with long hair, strong and fast and armed with two gauntlets. An aggressive fighter with the habit of charging in head-first, and it'll be no different here._

His imaginary enemy leapt at him, right fist bursting forward for a powerful blow that would knock him senseless were it to connect. But in that almost imperceptible moment, when she was mid-air and fully committed to her attack, she was _vulnerable_ – unable to react in time to any counter-strike.

Jaune slashed down, taking his enemy's right arm off at the elbow; and then he twisted, swinging his sword from left to right to decapitate his maimed opponent.

Jaune reset the scenario once more.

_One enemy, three meters ahead. A girl in traditional Mistralian armour, holding a shield in one hand and a mecha-shift sword in another. Preternaturally skilled, surpassingly strong, and mercilessly fast – it'll be impossible to take her off-guard, or to identify and exploit that brief moment of vulnerability when she attacks. The only option I have is to block or dodge her attack and retaliate after that._

The Mistralian champion of his imagination blurred into action, and her sword slashed out in a lightning-fast first-strike –

– only for Jaune to pull back his torso, and use his left leg to push himself back into a short, smooth back-step. Simultaneously, he brought his sword arcing down to remove his enemy's right hand at the wrist; and then, exploiting the pain and horror that such an injury would inevitably cause, he lunged past her guard to embed his sword in her throat.

And that was that.

Jaune let loose a breath, and allowed himself to relax for a bit.

In battle, the goal was to attack your enemy while not allowing them to attack you. With that in mind, a combatant had three main ways to achieve victory.

The first way was to take advantage of the enemy being surprised, distracted or otherwise unprepared – by attacking before they could put up an effective guard, let alone attack you.

The second way was to exploit that split second of vulnerability when an enemy had already committed to an attack – by attacking in that moment when your enemy could no longer switch to blocking or dodging, nor adjust their angle of attack when you simultaneously impede their strike; through a strike to their hands, for example, or by a parry with the base of the blade even as the tip arced around to strike at the enemy's head.

The third way was to take advantage of the over-extension that occurred after a failed attack – by executing a successful block or dodge, and then retaliating once your enemy's weapon was no longer in a position to block your attacks, or hurt you.

All this Jaune had learnt from his father; king-high bastard though the latter was, he knew how to fight, and Jaune had, like a man dying of thirst, drank in every last bit of skill his old man was willing to impart, even as he _hated_ that –

Jaune terminated that line of thought. He was brooding, he realized, and such a thing was useless at best and counter-productive at worst. If he had time to sulk, he could well practise more.

He continued running through his technique drills. At the most basic level, they were just step-by-step manuals to winning a fight under specific circumstances. The core ones he had already completed focused on the expected timing of attacks and countering accordingly – while the others he now worked through addressed other variables like the number of opponents or the level of technological sophistication involved. Fighting one person was different from fighting a pair, or from fighting a group of three people; and duelling someone wielding a modern mecha-shift weapon posed a different challenge from fighting a person using full plate armour and an illegal aura-piercing Anra steel blade, or from battling a backwoods huntsman still resorting to stabbing dust crystals into their own body.

By the time he was done with his drills, Jaune was sweating heavily. The cool night air helped, somewhat, but still he considered pulling off his shirt and risking a cold, when –

The sound of clapping, cool and precise like the man from which it emanated, broke the silence of the night.

Jaune turned, and upon seeing the silver-haired man in shaded eyeglasses standing not a dozen feet away, had to actively force himself not to flinch.

At such close range, surely the man acclaimed as the greatest dust mage in all Remnant could sense that he lacked _that_.

Ozpin gave a mild smile, and if the headmaster was aware of Jaune's mounting trepidation, he gave no hint of it, instead saying only saying,

"You have impressive sword work, Mr. Arc, just like your father, and his father before him. May I?"

The headmaster reached out, in expectation of receiving Crocea Mors for examination. And though Jaune suspected a trap, he could hardly refuse the headmaster's request without the running of risk of additional scrutiny and – possibly – discovery.

"Of course, headmaster."

Reluctantly, he handed Crocea Mors over, and the headmaster took it. Raising it up, and holding it at an angle, the headmaster seemed to admire the way the light danced off the blade, before saying,

"Truly a work of wonder, this blade of Anra steel."

Invented during the Great War, Anra steel possessed the unique ability of bypassing aura defences – a devastating advantage, for huntsman-on-huntsman combat. Difficult to make and even harder to forge into a blade, swords of Anra steel were a prime contributor to the war's staggering bodycount – and hence was promptly banned in the peace that followed. Some influential old families, like the Arcs or Winchesters, managed to obtain exemptions, and were allowed to keep their family weapons – but such cases were not the rule so much as the exception.

With an assurance and deftness that Jaune did not expect, the headmaster proceeded to give the sword a few practice swings, before launching into a sequence of attacks almost too fast to see. Jaune's own hand twitched, as he immediately though of how he would have parried and struck back –

– only to realize that he would have died, the headmaster's last jab being but a sublime feint leading into a wicked twisting cut that would have slit his throat and painted the ground red with his blood.

Feeling appropriate chastised, Jaune knew that he was in the presence of a master – a fact that he nonetheless could not quite square, given the headmaster's choice of a cane as a weapon, and his well-known preference, and well-earned reputation, for dust sorcery.

The headmaster nodded with evident satisfaction, even as he said,

"I commend you on your confident handling of the sword – most huntsmen would fear the risk of mishandling Anra steel and hurting themselves."

Jaune gave a tight smile. Ordinarily, the headmaster's praise would have made him giddy with pride and validation; but now, all he felt was an urgent hope that this conversation be over as soon as possible.

The nature of hope, of course, was to be disappointed.

The headmaster's next words cut like steel through flesh.

"I imagine, Mr Arc, that not having an unlocked aura lends a different perspective – all weapons are dangerous to you, and Anra steel is nothing special in that respect."

_! ! !_

Jaune's heart leapt, and the shock choked him into silence.

_He knows._

The headmaster, his eyes now betraying a cold intensity, continued by saying,

"While I am somewhat impressed that a person without aura attempted – and passed – the entrance examinations, you must know that I cannot allow you to participate in initiation tomorrow. Without aura, you will most certainly die – and you know better than I that the only person who can unlock your aura is half the world away, and disinclined to help anyway."

That last sentence jolted Jaune. And as his initial shock gave away to a familiar, bone-deep resentment, Jaune was reminded of why he had even been put in this position; and yet also of how far he had come regardless; and of the truly desperate lengths he was willing to go to make his dream come true. His resentment animating him, he pushed back against Ozpin –

"With all due respect, headmaster, you're wrong – because under certain circumstances, a person can also unlock their own aura."

From behind his glasses, Ozpin's eyes bore into Jaune, all the while betraying not a single hint of the his thoughts. With a calm – almost detached – tone of voice, the headmaster replied,

"Yes, I understand what you intend. The risk is considerable nonetheless, and the political ramifications of letting a student die are not to be sneezed at. What benefits are there for Beacon and Vale, to outweigh such risks?"

The question was a reasonable one, and Jaune acknowledged that fact with a nod, before responding.

"The Arcs have always been top-tier huntsmen, with powerful semblances capable of besting dangerous enemies, or –"

Ozpin raised a hand, and the gesture stopped Jaune short. The headmaster shook his head, and sounded almost disappointed as he said,

"Anyone can fight, Mr Arc, and warriors are as commonplace as the grains of sand in the desert. What is one more person with a sword? Will that truly make a difference, or build a better world, or change the arc of history? It is thinkers that we need, and those, I fear, are in short supply."

For the second time that night, Jaune's heart leapt – but this time in pleasant surprise, rather than in distressed bewilderment – for now he knew what the headmaster's game was, and boy he was ready to play it.

"My mind is as sharp as my sword, sir, if you'll let me prove it to you."

A hint of a smile ghosted over the older man's face.

"By all means, Mr Arc, proceed."

Jaune cast his mind around for a relevant topic that would allow him the opportunity to impress, and soon enough settled on an appropriate subject. After taking a few moments to gather his thoughts, he launched into his explanation.

"Take the incoming student batch, sir. Beacon is highly competitive, with less than 20% of applicants getting accepted. A lot of those who didn't make the cut would have had excellent academic and combat grades no worse than what the successful applicants would have had. Who gets accepted and who gets rejected, therefore, must ultimately turn on other considerations – particularly political ones.

"The Schnee and the Belladonna I saw earlier today, for example – one the heir to the SDC, the other the daughter of the White Fang's founder. If they strike up a personal friendship, or at least a decent professional relationship, it'll allow you to execute a real public relations coup. By plastering the media with news of their relationship, you can help persuade both humans and faunus that even old enemies can become friends, and that trust and cooperation and peaceful progress is possible – no violent oppression or terrorism needed. All in all, this will weaken the hardliners in both Atlas and the White Fang, and might facilitate reform in the former and a movement back to peaceful protest in the latter."

Jaune took Ozpin's continued silence as an encouraging sign, and continued to give his analysis.

"Then you have Pyrrha Nikos, the champion from Mistral. Even eighty years after the Great War, there's still distrust between the nations, and Mistral uniformly rejects Valean and Atlesian offers of military support to root out the bandits and terrorists infesting the Mistralian badlands. However, if one day the person leading the Valean team and making the offer on behalf of Beacon is a famous and much-admired Mistralian native, then our help might well be accepted, and we'll have the foundation for a more permanent and lasting international huntsman taskforce."

Jaune took a few seconds to catch his breath.

"I'm forgetting something. Oh yes, Winchester. His family and mine have been killing each other since before the Great War, but studying together at Beacon might go some way in mending relations, and prevent the sort of infighting that almost lost Vale the war."

Jaune was well aware that much of his analysis bordered on the speculative – and while he was fairly confident that he was right about why the Belladonna had been allowed into the same intake as the Schnee, much of what he said of Nikos was little more than groundless conjecture.

Still, he judged that it didn't matter, since the point wasn't to be precisely right so much as to show Ozpin he had strong knowledge of the world – as well as the intellectual confidence and analytical ability to tease out the logical implications that others could not see.

And on that front –

Ozpin favoured him with the slightest, most imperceptible smile.

– and Jaune knew he had passed the test with flying colours.

The headmaster, of course, was more reserved.

"You have a keen mind, Mr Arc, and despite your flaw – shared with many other intelligent people, to be sure – of caring more about being clever than being right, I see much promise in you. I am therefore willing to let you attempt your mad plan for tomorrow. But, a word of warning, and I will never tell you anything truer than this –"

Ozpin rapped his cane on the ground for emphasis.

"Heroism will bring you naught but grief."

And with those parting words, the headmaster headed back to the school, his cane tapping the ground before him.

With clenched jaws, Jaune watched the headmaster leave. Well-intentioned or not, the headmaster's words had opened old wounds – and that way lay self-hate and self-pity and enough sorrow to drown cities.

With a monumental effort of will, Jaune forced his thoughts away from the darkness of the past, and began heading back to the school. It was late, and he had sleep to catch.

Jaune stopped by the locker room to store Crocea Mors, before making his way back to the ballroom. After a quick change of shirts, he settled down onto the thin mattress provided by the school, and pulled the accompanying blanket over him.

Sleep failed to come, and Jaune ended up spending most of the night staring into the ceiling, wishing – unsuccessfully – for sleep to take him.

So when dawn finally broke, it was in an exhausted and aggravated state that Jaune found himself in.

Washing up helped, somewhat, but then the annoyingly loud orange-haired girl barged into the male bathroom to flirt with her friend, and that further frayed Jaune's mood.

He considered skipping breakfast, but upon remembering that it could well be his last meal, headed to the dining hall. Loading up on the eggs and bacon and sausages, Jaune wolfed down a full, hearty breakfast, and tried to school his scattered mind into deadly focus.

By the time the students had assembled at the cliffs for the start of initiation, Jaune was almost feeling like himself again – which was well and good, given what he was about to do.

The headmaster was giving a short speech explaining the details of initiation, but it was all in-one-ear, and out-the-other for Jaune, focused as he was on what almost half a decade of planning had led up to.

A quirk of fate meant that an Arc's aura could only ever be unlocked by a family member. Not a problem, ordinarily, but with everyone else dead and his father refusing to support his career choice, that left Jaune with only one choice – do it as the ancients did, and unleash the power of the soul by looking death in the face.

His plan was beautiful in its simplicity, and elegant in its insanity.

Today, Jaune Arc would meet his high and lofty destiny, and become the hero he was always meant to be – or he would die, deservedly.

Jaune smiled.

To his left, the launching sequence had already begun, and one by one students were being fired into the air, towards the vast, verdant Emerald Forest and all its lurking Grimm.

The scythe-wielding girl right beside him disappeared in a blur, and it was his turn next.

Jaune felt all his doubt and all his fears wash away, and what remained was –

_! ! !_

The launch pad under his feet exploded up and forwards, and Jaune found himself lifted up into the air –

flying

floating

_soaring_

Below him, the Emerald Forest passed in a blur of green, a hundred thousand trees melding together into a form indistinct.

And when the tugging feel in his gut signalled that he had reached the peak of the launch arc, and was about to fall...

Jaune spread his arms, as if to embrace eternity.

He fell –

– he was going to die –

– but he didn't _want_ to die –

– _he wanted to live –_

And so his soul spoke, and thus the world listened.

Light burst forth, from everywhere and nowhere, from within and without, and from the triumph of hope over doubt.

A thunderous impact rocked the forest floor.

From amongst the shattered trees and dissolving Grimm, Jaune Arc rose to his feet, aura swirling around him like fire dancing on the wind.

_Finally._

Jaune Arc was going to be a hero – even if the price was corpses and widows.

-(=RWBY=)-


	2. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight I

.

-(=RWBY=)-

**Queen of Air and Darkness  
**Chapter 1  
_Light at Midnight_

-(=RWBY=)-

His alarm sounded, and Jaune Arc woke to the withering reality that was his team hating him almost as much as they hated each other.

Eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling, Jaune tried to enjoy the last few minutes of tranquillity before the screaming started.

His teammates, meanwhile, were waking up.

Pyrrha Nikos rose from her bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Jaune could not help but look across at his partner, and smile – in an act that could be considered both apology and olive branch – but her eyes hardened, his smile grew strained, and that marked the end of the attempt to mend bridges; they both knew where they stood.

"_Hey._

"_Hey yourself._

_Jaune made the effort to smile, as he introduced himself._

"_Nice to meet you, partner. I'm Jaune Arc. You're Pyrrha Nikos, I suppose? Four-time winner of the Mistralian Championships."_

"_Nice to meet you too, Jaune."_

_With the trees rustling around them, and the Grimm still far from their position, Pyrrha smiled back in turn, her commercial-worthy teeth shining in the soft morning light – even as the curve of her lips never matched the coolness in her eyes._

_Jaune faltered, the immediacy of her coldness making him unsure; and after a moment's consideration, decided it was probably a better use of both their time to get a move on – after all, the strongest friendships were forged in the harshness of battle._

"_Shall we head towards the temple, and get the relics the headmaster mentioned?"_

_Pyrrha nodded her assent, and the newly-forged partnership started making their way north._

_This continued for a minute or more – and all the while, the uncomfortable silence grated on him. Deciding not to let his initial failure discourage him, Jaune made a second attempt at making friends._

"_Hope I don't sound too fanboyish in saying this, I've watched your matches before. Pyrrha – and you always show such incredible skill, and such liquid movement. Any pointers for a fellow fighter?"_

_Combat was what he was good at, and the same could be said of Pyrrha – and hence Jaune hoped that they could bond over their shared love of clashing blades and battle conducted at the edge. He favoured her with a grin, one sincere as he truly was being._

_Pyrrha smiled, again, but this time, not only did it fail to reach her eyes, her lips themselves seemed barely to twitch upwards._

"_Oh, practice, and good trainers – nothing to write home about."_

_It was an answer given a thousand times to hungry journalists and flashing cameras, and Jaune found himself wondering where he went wrong._

_Nothing worth doing was easy, however, as his aura-unlocking proved. And so he forged ahead one, last time – but on this attempt, he went for a semi-serious joke._

"_Ah, no secret semblance? I swear I saw your opponents' weapons move in strange ways before – faltering before a decisive blow, or failing a block that could not be failed. I hope they aren't all taking a dive or something."_

_Jaune smiled, in a manner he hoped was roguish and charming._

_And yet –_

_Pyrrha Nikos's mouth grew thin, and she killed both the conversation and their potential friendship with –_

"_I'm no cheat. And I would be pleased if would not impugn my reputation or my hard-won wins."_

_Jaune generally considered himself to have a silver-tongue, but the conversation had gone in so mangled a direction that he could not but cut his losses and concede defeat._

"_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, honestly. Let's just go north, shall we?"_

_And so they did. It was an easy journey, all things considered, the low-level Grimm of the Emerald Forest being no match for the Champion of Mistral and the last son of Arc._

_Together, they carved a unerring path to the temple. And yet, for all her strength and all his skill, they could not escape the silence that spanned the two._

Jaune sighed, even as Pyrrha made her way to the bathroom to freshen up. He wasn't in the habit of bathing in the morning – it wasn't as if one sweated that much at night – and so was more than happy to let Pyrrha go first.

As for his other teammates...

On the far side of the room, Blake Belladonna was already changed into her combat attire, having seemingly woken up before the rest of the team. A book in hand, she was magnanimous enough to spare him a cold glance, before heading straight out of the room.

And if the door slammed shut in a way that couldn't be remotely construed as polite, well...

... things could be worse, or so Jaune reminded himself.

_Initiation was over, and they had passed with consummate ease. Aura truly was a miracle for the ages, the enhanced speed and strength and toughness and awareness allowing him to best the Deathstalker in single combat while his team dealt with the more minor Grimm._

_Having obtained the relics and returned to the cliffs, Weiss was now further pestering Pyrrha on some inconsequential matter, and with the latter – unconsciously or otherwise – speeding up to escape the former, that left Jaune and Blake walking back to the school at a more leisurely pace._

_Despite the disaster that was his earlier attempt to befriend Pyrrha, Jaune reasoned that it was probably just her being a standoffish celebrity – and it wasn't like lightning could strike twice. To Blake, therefore, he said,_

"_So, Blake, what brings you here? I thought Menagerie was planning to open up its own combat school – wouldn't that have been more convenient for you? Though I guess Beacon is the best, and –"_

_Gambol Shroud ripped from its sheath, and on reflex Jaune drew Crocea Mors in reply, to face off against the inexplicably furious girl._

_With her sword levelled at him, she demanded,_

"_How do you know I'm a faunus? What do you want?"_

_Jaune's grip on his sword tightened – before relaxing. Blake, he realized, was terrified, and it didn't take a genius to figure our why. The responsible thing was to deescalate and reassure, and accordingly, Jaune sheathed his sword. Raising his arms to show his lack of hostility, he said,_

"_Hey, calm down. I recognized your name, that's all – I mean, your parents are famous. For the record, I have nothing against faunus, and I don't hold it against you or your parents that Sienna Khan resorted to terrorism after she took power."_

_His words worked – to some extent. Blake lowered her blade, even as the anger in her face failed to fade away._

_After a few seconds of what was clearly internal turmoil, Blake said, with a real edge to her voice –_

"_Keep this to yourself. I don't want trouble just because bigots hate my race or my family. Promise me."_

_Jaune nodded._

"_I promise, don't worry."_

_Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he added,_

"_Though honestly, I don't think anyone will give you trouble over this. Maybe Winchester – his family has hated faunus since forever – but most younger folks don't care for the old bigotries."_

_And, gentle as spring rain, he asked,_

"_Do you really think you need that bow here?"_

_Blake's anger was gone now, Jaune could see. And in its place –_

– _contempt._

_In a quiet voice that carried, Blake Belladonna gave a reply burdened with the weight of history._

"_If you ever want to know why anti-faunus discrimination still exists, Arc, simply look in the mirror – and see someone who helps evil by pretending that the problem is gone, and that we should all just move on."_

Jaune rubbed at his temples. Remembering the conversation from yesterday made him both upset and uneasy. He didn't think it was fair of Blake to disparage him as she did – while he might have not been sufficiently considerate of her feelings and her own experience with discrimination, he certainly didn't believe that it no longer existed. It wasn't as if he was like...

Jaune glanced near the bathroom door, outside which the final member of their team silently waited her turn while ignoring his existence. Her hair white as fresh-fallen snow, and the angry scar over her left eye only lending her the exquisiteness of imperfection, here was a girl with all the beauty, and all the warmth, of a lake in winter frozen and in spring unthawed.

He might have gotten off to a bad start with Pyrrha and Blake, but compared to what last night with Weiss had wrought...

_Their new dorm room was nice and spacious, even if Jaune was unsure how living with three girls would work. On the one hand, it sounded excitingly dirty, like the multiple-romance plot of Mistralian animation; on the other hand – and if he was being honest with himself – it was going to be awkward at best and a disaster at worst._

_As the newly minted team leader of JWBN – pronounced Jubilation, according to Ozpin and whatever monkey-typed dictionary he was using – Jaune took the initiative._

"_If any of you girls want to use the bathroom first, I'm happy to wait. While the first person bathes, the rest of us can unpack."_

_As Blake didn't seem to care, and with Weiss trying to curry favour with Pyrrha, the latter ended up getting to shower first, despite her obvious aversion to the favouritism._

_The rest of them got down to unpacking, which for Jaune was an admirably swift process – since it involved little more than retrieving a pile of clothes, a bag of toiletries and a solitary water bottle from his luggage and dumping them all into the cabinet nearest his bed. That done, he pulled out his scroll, and started checking the news._

_..._

"_**Fuck**__."_

"_**Excuse me**__, Jaune Arc? Please do watch your language, especially if you'll be living with three ladies."_

_In the midst of unpacking her absurd amount of luggage, Weiss nonetheless took out the time to berate him for his swearing. Blake, meanwhile, had quickly completed her unpacking as well, and had started reading a book on her bed._

"_Sorry, Weiss. It's just –"_

_The Vale News Network article staring at him from his scroll told a brutal story bordering on the gruesome._

_Jaune considered not telling Weiss what it was that he had just read, but she was going to find out eventually – and she deserved to know._

"– _the White Fang just attacked a Schnee mining operation in Atlas. Dozens killed, with the bodies showing... signs of... torture and mutilation."_

_Now __**that**__ shocked Weiss into horrified silence – while also drawing Blake's attention from across the room. The latter was frozen in the middle of turning a page, and a plethora of emotions warred on her face – horror, distress, distaste, disgust._

_Weiss, meanwhile, had pulled out her scroll to verify the news for herself; and as she doubtlessly read the same VNN article he did, her face deepened into cold, intense rage. And when she spoke, it was fire she spat._

"_What vile animals the White Fang are – torture, mutilation, execution; is no enormity beyond them? General Ironwood should have killed them years ago; hunted them down and destroyed them root and branch."_

_From behind Weiss, Blake's eyes narrowed to slits, the mention of animals and wholesale destruction doubtlessly angering her. Jaune could feel a ruinous argument coming, and tried to head it off, but he was too slow, as Blake snapped –_

"_Weiss. You're upset, and I understand, but there's no call for racist language, or for talking about destroying anything root and branch in the context of a people who has historically been killed in pogroms and ethnic cleansings."_

_Upon hearing this, Weiss spun upon her heels to glare at Blake._

"_What? I can't believe I'm hearing this. Don't make spurious accusations of racism or ethnic cleansing, Blake – we're not talking about faunus in general, just the White Fang. __**Terrorists**__. Brutal, insane murderers who need to be destroyed!"_

_Jaune was a helpless bystander now. Words failed him; but it did not fail Blake, who returned fire with an intensity Jaune did not expect, even accounting for her faunus heritage._

"_You can't paint the crimes of a few White Fang members on the whole organization! On the whole, the White Fang only attacks military and Schnee targets, either in self-defence or to free faunus trapped as slaves in Schnee mines!"_

_Weiss gaped._

"_What nonsense is this? The Schnee Dust Company does __**not**__ enslave anyone, faunus or otherwise! This is just typical conspiratorial nonsense thrown about by malicious liars and amplified by the sensationalist media to hurt the SDC's reputation."_

_At this point, Blake gave a masterclass in mock incredibility._

"_Oh __**yes**__, of course, it's just a conspiracy. Everyone's just out to get the poor, victimized Schnees. It's __**totally**__ not the case that reputable organizations like Liberty International have compiled tons of investigative research showing faunus in the Schnee mines being beaten and whipped, of female faunus being raped, of faunus men being mutilated with the fucking SDC logo –"_

_Blake stopped mid-rant. She was pale, and growing paler. And for some inexplicable reason, she was pointing at her left eye, and yet was now looking at her own pointing hand with growing horror._

_Without another word, she fled the room._

_Weiss was speechless; Jaune, meanwhile, only felt a sinking feeling, as he got a sense of the truth behind the last – admittedly insane-looking – finger pointing part of Blake's rant._

_Weiss, who had thus far been facing towards Blake's side of the room and away from him, now turned around once more._

"_Jaune, surely __**you**__ don't believe the deluded lies Blake was spreading?"_

_Jaune shook his head – though not at Weiss's question so much as in resignation._

_He was caught in a bind here – however he answered, he was sure to offend one of his teammates, further fragmenting his new team of half an hour._

_Though, Jaune drily noted – could they truly fragment if they never were united in the first place?_

_Snorting at that little bit of grim humour, Jaune then decided to tell Weiss the truth – his conscience demanded it, on an issue as morally significant as this; and it wasn't inconceivable that he could put Weiss onto a path of changing her mind._

_Gathering his thoughts, Jaune spoke._

"_Weiss. This –""_

_He raised his scroll to show the VNN article on the White Fang's brutal attack._

"– _is evil, and the White Fang are brutal terrorists who need to be stopped –"_

_Weiss seemed to preen, before his next words stopped her cold._

"– _but Blake is not wrong that there are well-documented cases of abusive labour practices by the Schnee Dust Corporation. Beatings and whippings, used by overseers to sate their own sadistic urges, or to punish faunus who try to escape. Rape, too, does happen. The same can be said of torture and disfiguration by branding – it's a sick insult, you see; it implies the faunus are cattle."_

_By this point, Weiss's face was cold – almost insanely so._

"_The White Fang is the scum of the earth, and I have sworn to destroy them. They are my enemy; and so is anyone who makes apologies for them by slurring my family."_

_Jaune exhaled. He didn't want to make an enemy of his teammate..._

_... but he wanted to be a hero, and a hero spoke the truth, even when it was inconvenient. Especially when it was inconvenient._

_Looking Weiss right in the eyes, Jaune calmly stated,_

"_Those weren't slurs; they're the publicly-documented truth."_

_Weiss nodded, and with coldness that could freeze the sun, said,_

"_I'll rather be friends, but if that's what you want, so be it. Enemies it is."_

All in all, their first day as a team had been a disaster too epic for words, and Ozpin's plan to improve human-faunus relations by bringing Weiss and Blake together was tragically hilarious.

Still, there was nothing to do but soldier on. He hadn't work so hard, or sacrificed so much, just to get here and then give up.

After Pyrrha and Weiss had finished showering and changing, Jaune slipped into the bathroom to put on his own combat attire of jeans and hoodie and armour. After that, the three of them started making their way to the dining hall. No one asked where Blake was; but then again no one said anything at all.

The dorms were located on the south-western corner of campus, while the dining hall was at the north-eastern end, so getting there was somewhat of an inconvenience.

With Jaune leading the way, the three of them headed down the initial path from the dorms, to reach the front courtyard.

It was a grand, beautiful place, full of soaring arches and flowing water. Jaune hadn't really allowed himself to appreciated it yesterday, when he was fully focused on initiation. Now, he took the time to stop and drink in the atmosphere of the place – even if, ultimately, he had eyes for only one thing.

The Heroes.

Standing high atop the rock that served as their pedestal, two figures of legend stared out heroically into the distance, the man raising his sword high, and the woman sending fire screaming across the sky.

The First King of Vale, on the one hand, and his greatest champion Jeanne d'Arc, on the other; and together, they had ended the Daybreak Wars, quelled the Twilight Plague, and driven back the tide of Grimm to the modern borders of Vale.

If he could be even a fraction of the hero that _she_ was, the world would be saved.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Jaune realized that Pyrrha and Weiss had left him behind. He was about to start jogging to catch up with them –

– only to see Headmaster Ozpin and Deputy Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch looking at him from under the tree where they were quietly speaking.

Manners dictated he greet them, and so he did, with a slight but respectful bow.

The headmaster lifted the cup he was sipping from, as if in salute, while his deputy gave a sharp but not unkind nod.

Then Ozpin gave a slight beckon with his head – a summons Jaune could not refuse.

He made his way across to them.

"Good morning, headmaster; deputy headmistress."

The latter looked somewhat uncomfortable at his presence, and the feeling was mutual, as no doubt the sight of each other only conjured memories of five years ago.

That was the first and only time Jaune Arc had ever seen a Collapse, or titan-class combat, and he wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

Ozpin, either oblivious – or uncaring – of the slightly tense atmosphere, enquired,

"How are you finding Beacon so far, Mr Arc?"

Jaune could have lied, or given some platitudinous non-answer, but he wasn't feeling up to it this morning.

"It could be better, sir. My team isn't getting along very well, and I hope that'll change for the better with time."

He wanted to add, _and I'm pretty sure we set human-faunus relations back ten years_, but he held his tongue.

Ozpin nodded in sympathy.

"These things require time. If you continue working on it patiently and thoughtfully, you four will surely grow close, both as a team and as good friends to last a lifetime.

"Why, one of the best huntsman teams to ever graduate Beacon started the first day by trying to kill each other. And then your famous ancestor herself, too, started out hating the man who would one day become king. She found him... too reticent, too secretive."

He smiled faintly, as if it were a joke only he understood; beside him, Goodwitch looked like she wanted to snort.

Jaune, meanwhile, said,

"Thank you for the advice and encouragement, sir. If that's all, may I be excused? I need to catch up with my team and have breakfast, before combat class."

Ozpin nodded genially.

"Of course. Do not let me keep you, Mr Arc."

"Thank you, sir. Ma'am."

Jaune nodded his goodbyes, and then turned and walked away at a fast pace – all the while feeling the keen gazes of the two professors never leaving his back.

He ended up making good time to the dining hall – the school itself wasn't too hard to navigate, so long as you knew the general direction of where you wanted to end up.

When he arrived, the dining hall wasn't particularly crowded; and though he couldn't say how packed it would ordinarily have been, it was still fairly early, and he suspected many of students were choosing to sleep in.

Heading to the front of the hall, Jaune joined the queue for the serving counter, and in a short while, he got the serving lady to load up a plate with full breakfast for him. Grabbing an extra croissant and banana for good measure, Jaune balanced everything on his tray, and then started scanning the hall for his errant teammates.

Blake was nowhere to be seen, but Pyrrha and Weiss were easy enough to spot, given the former's flame-red hair and the latter's snow-white tresses, as well as the small crowd of people that had begun congregating around where the two celebrities were seated.

Weiss seemed at home with the attention, but Pyrrha seemed disinterested – and indeed, she was looking at the other side of the hall with a frown.

Jaune turned his head –

_Ah._

A change of plans was in order.

Instead of going over to Weiss and Pyrrha, Jaune headed for back of the hall –

– and on the way, activated his aura and barged into the back of Cardin Winchester.

The large boy was flung to the floor, and the frightened rabbit faunus whose ear he had been pulling took the chance to scamper away, her own tray of food left forgotten.

"What the fuck? Watch where you're going!"

Winchester roared his displeasure, as he picked himself up.

But when he saw who it was that had knocked him down, his simmering anger erupted into full-blown fire.

"Arc, you bastard, you did that on purpose!"

Jaune set his tray down – he didn't want his tray to go flying and the food to go to waste, if it came to blows. Then he smiled, with a cocky insufferable smirk only he could pull off so well.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Cardin, I didn't notice you."

"You fucking liar!"

Cardin looked ready to punch him, before Jaune said,

"Save it for combat class, Cardin – or after school, when I'll be pleased to fight you in the training rooms. Or would you rather go a round with me now, and then when we're hauled before the headmaster, explain to him just what you were doing before I interrupted you?"

The larger boy glowered – but he backed off.

"I'll smash that smirk off your face later, and that's a promise."

He stormed off, and the rest of Team CRDL, who had been hanging back thus far, followed, though not before Russel Thrush shot him an appraising look.

With that bit of trouble over, Jaune picked up his tray again, and was about to head over to his team, when he realized that the whole dining hall was still looking at him.

So to them, he said,

"What a heroic bunch of huntsmen and huntresses you all are, to sit by and do nothing, when injustice is occurring. Good job."

Angry murmurs broke out in the hall

Jaune, however, had eyes only for his teammates.

Weiss, predictably, was angry – even if she tried not to show it, the narrowed eyes and mouth pressed flat spoke well and loud. Pyrrha, however –

Pyrrha gave a brilliant smile – one bright as the sun, and sincere as none of her other ones had been.

Jaune felt a weight lift off of him, and returned her heartfelt smile with one of his own, before making his way over.

The groupies and hanger-ons dispersed at his coming, and he sat down across from Pyrrha, and next to Weiss – though giving the latter a wide berth.

Pyrrha no longer seemed to actively dislike him – or think him just some asshole disparaging her Championship wins – but Jaune decided it was still good to talk things through.

"Pyrrha. I know we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, and that I'm to blame, but I hope you can forgive me, and that we can still become good partners, and good friends."

Pyrrha seemed taken aback, somewhat, but quickly recovered to say,

"Oh no, I should be the one apologizing, for overreacting to a joke. Of course we can be friends – shake on it?"

She smiled warmly, and offered her hand.

He took it, and they shook to confirm that bygones were bygones.

Weiss seemed none too pleased, but right now, her anger was dust to him.

They began eating their breakfast, and throughout Jaune kept up small talk with Pyrrha; and while his partner was still somewhat reserved, that seemed more her personality than anything, and all things considered, Jaune counted that morning an unqualified success.

Now, if only he could persuade the other two members of his teams not to hate him, or each other...

He mused on that thorny issue, but if the way Weiss occasionally shot him dirty glances, he would have his work cut out for him.

Once they were all done eating, they cleared their trays. Then, they made their way towards the armoury to retrieve their weapons, before walking over to where the combat arena stood.

A large, imposing structure, the arena was more stadium than school building. Entering through the main entrance and going straight, Team JWBN sans Blake came upon the wide, empty circular space at the heart of the building, where battles would take place.

Taking one of the two staircases that wound up the walls surrounding the combat circle, the team reached the upper level of the arena, where tiered benches rose up in ever larger concentric circles.

The ceiling, far above, completed the grand atmosphere of the place, and almost made it feel like the sort of real stadium used for the regional combat Championships.

A glance around revealed that they were the first to arrive. Choosing a bench mid-way up, Jaune sat, and his team followed suit, Pyrrha settling down beside him and Weiss perching further down.

The silence was pleasant, and relaxing. Tilting his head back, Jaune let the soft light from the ceiling high above wash over him.

And that was when a shriek pierced the silence.

Jaune snapped his eyes open, even as Weiss exclaimed in disgust,

"It's that child again!"

Team RVLY was lying in a collective heap in the middle of the combat circle, evidently having sprinted here before proceeding to trip over each other.

Ruby Rose was the first to pick herself up, and with a quick scan of the benches confirming that they were largely empty, she exclaimed, happily,

"Oh, thank the cookie gods, we're not late!"

Yang Xiao-Long, looking torn between amusement and annoyance, shook her head, and said,

"I told you so, sis. There wasn't a need to rush."

Lie Ren, meanwhile, looked exhausted.

"Nora, I can't believe there are now basically two of you. If things continue as they are, my hair will turn grey from stress."

The busty, and apparently perennially chirpy orange-haired girl grinned at her friend.

"C'mon Rennie, you know there's only one NORA VALKYRIE!"

She thrust her warhammer up, and posed for all to see.

"Well, well, you guys are an interesting bunch."

Jaune, along with the rest of his team, had walked towards the railings at the edge of the upper level, from which they could peer down at their excitable fellow students on the ground floor.

Jaune gave a friendly wave, even while thinking to himself –

_Team Revelry sure is well named._

Ruby seemed embarrassed, but after a moment's hesitation, waved back shyly.

The members of Team RVLY then made their way up their stairs, at a more sedate pace relative to how they entered the arena.

"Eep!"

Ruby made a sound that seemed a cross between bird chirp and mouse squeak, as Weiss stalked up to her. Wagging a finger at the other girl, Weiss exclaimed,

"You! Do you have any sense of decorum at all?"

Ruby made to hide behind her sister, who sighed.

"Lay off her, will you, Weiss cream?"

The nickname amused Jaune – and Pyrrha, who failed to sufficiently stifle her giggle – but served only to further upset Weiss, who looked about ready to begin ranting.

Jaune stepped in.

"Weiss. Enough."

The white-haired girl turned around to glare at him; and, as expected, her deep and lasting anger at him made her forget the minor annoyance that the sisters posed.

Spinning upon her heels, she stalked away – only to almost collide into Blake Belladonna, who had just come up the staircase.

They glared at each other, before going off in opposite directions.

Jaune ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

_His team._

He really had to think of something, or at this rate the whole bunch of them was going to die from disunity and mis-coordination one day, on one difficult mission or another.

But speaking of good relationships –

He turned back to Ruby and team, and offered a hand.

"Hi, I'm Jaune, and this is Pyrrha."

"Oh! Nice to meet you Jaune. Nice to meet you too, Pyrrha."

Everyone present took turn shaking hands, while Ruby introduced her team.

"This is Yang, my sister. And that's Ren, he's like a super-duper cool ninja, and he's with Nora, who can basically punch out Goliaths once you feed her enough electricity."

"Please never do that, Ruby."

With his words and demeanour, Ren was clearly the sensible, responsible person in his team. Nora, meanwhile had a manic grin and a grip like an industrial gravel crusher. But as interesting a pair as the two made, it was Yang Xiao-Long who drew Jaune's attention the most.

She looked familiar – distressingly so, because he couldn't quite trace the resemblance to its source.

"See anything you like, ladykiller?"

The girl in question caught him staring, and gave him a smile dangerous and alluring in equal measures.

Jaune laughed, and only said,

"Nah, I just thought you looked familiar. Maybe I saw you around Vale once, or something."

"Oh, yeah, maybe! Do you club?"

Yang began quizzing him on his interest in getting shitfaced at nightclubs – which was none – and the conversation eventually drew everyone into a discussion of their hobbies.

As more they chatted about everything and nothing, other teams filtered into the arena, and began taking seats on the various benches. It struck Jaune, then, how normal and how _nice_ Team RVLY was. Meanwhile, he was the one stuck with group whose makeup was almost designed, with surgical precision, to have its members hate each other.

In a way, he supposed it was – if, as he thought, this was all some political side-project by the headmaster.

The bell rang.

Right on the dot, and not a moment too early or late, Glynda Goodwitch marched in. The whole class – of perhaps eight teams – fell silent; such was the respect her stern demeanour commanded.

It helped, of course, to be the most famous huntress on Remnant, one whose power was capable of levelling cities and murdering armies.

"Good morning, class, and welcome to Year 1 Combat. The goal of this class is to improve the combat abilities of each and everyone of you. To that end, we will have practice combat each session – sometimes, this will involve one-on-one duels here; other times, they will involve fighting a horde of Grimm in controlled conditions at the edge of the Emerald Forest; and yet other times, this will involve a test of endurance as you face a continuous stream of Grimm for a fixed duration of time.

"All these simulate the various combat scenarios you might face – duelling a powerful rogue huntsman, for example; or fighting against a pack of Grimm individually weak but collectively dangerous; or, perhaps, holding a ruined village gate against an unending tide of nightmares until reinforcements arrive.

"The threat we fight, and the dangers we face, are very real, and you must all work hard to ensure your skills are up to par. In particular, you must understand that this class ought not be the only time you are doing combat training. Rather, this class is meant to give me the chance to observe you in action, and to offer suggestions as to how you might improve. You _must_ then train in your own time, and attempt to implement my suggestions – whether it be to practise a specific combat form, or to add and master a crowd-control weapons function, or to improve your general endurance. I expect to see improvement, and I will be _most_ displeased if none is in evidence."

_And you don't want to face my displeasure_ – that was the threat made but left unsaid. It was an implication, Jaune sensed, that everyone understood well enough.

"Today, we shall be practising one-on-one combat. Typically, I would do the choosing as to who fights whom, but Beacon has a tradition of allowing – on the first day, and on the first day only – the students to choose whom they wish to fight.

"Now – who wishes to go first?"

Far down the bench, Cardin Winchester stood, and shouted,

"Me, Professor! And I challenge Arc."

Goodwitch sighed.

"Your father said that too, Mr Winchester."

Jaune smiled.

Cardin was a moron, truly. Not in the sense of lacking intelligence, but in the sense of not using it.

Aside from the fact that he was going to lose – badly – the boy had never stopped to think as to why this old tradition even existed.

Prevailing since even before their fathers attended Beacon, the reason for said tradition was obvious – to identify and gauge simmering animosities amongst the students, especially in the wake of the Great War, so that the staff could take the appropriate disciplinary and corrective measures. Without said tradition, students would simply fight outside the confines of class – leading to hurt and injury in the near-term, and a disunited and ineffective huntsman corps in the long-run.

In more modern times, of course, as the older enmities had died out, the tradition was used more to souse out the troublemakers and the bullies – those who liked violence, lacked restrain, and could not see reason.

_Way to out yourself, Winchester._

Jaune stood, and spoke up.

"I'm more than happy to fight Cardin, Professor, though I would have thought he'd rather let ancient feuds die. What does it matter, who killed who, a hundred years ago?"

Upon hearing his words, Goodwitch favoured Jaune with a nod.

"Well said, Mr Arc. Your maturity is commendable, and something that could be emulated by others."

Context, let alone her glance back at Cardin, left no doubt as to who she had in mind.

Cardin looked fit to explode – but could not bring up the truth, without risking exposure over the faunus bullying matter.

Regardless, there would be no backing out now, for either Cardin or himself.

Reassuring a concerned looking Pyrrha with a smile, Jaune went over to the railing, and then jumped down, aura cushioning the landing.

Cardin did the same from his side, and Goodwitch began issuing instructions for the fight.

"Link your scrolls to the arena's combat system. You can do so by opening the Beacon app on your scroll, navigating to the _Combat_ page, and selecting the very bottom button labelled _Link_."

Jaune did as he was told, but from the whispers that had broken out all around, the class was clearly no longer paying attention to Goodwitch – preferring, instead, to discuss who would win this duel.

Shaking her head in annoyed disapproval, Glynda Goodwitch snapped her crop, and dust sorcery did the rest, producing a ear-splitting clap.

Pained winces were evident all around, even as Goodwitch sternly said,

"Pay attention, for you will all need to do this later, and I will not deign to repeat myself."

Chastened, the class paid close attention to the giant screen at the other end of the arena, on which Goodwitch demonstrated how to perform the simple scroll linking.

After that, Goodwitch changed the screen, and made it instead show Cardin's and Jaune's faces, along with their accompanying aura meters.

"Combat will start only when I say it starts; and it will end immediately when either party's aura reaches 20%, or when I call a stop. I warn you, do not test me on this – I will not hesitate to suspend or even expel any student who risks the safety of his peers by ignoring these rules. Am I understood?"

A chorus of '_Yes, Professor_' echoed throughout the arena.

Satisfied, Goodwitch seemed ready to begin the fight –

– only to pause.

Blinking in annoyance and then sighing, she gave the impression of being vexed with herself for forgetting something. Turning to Jaune, she asked,

"May I see your sword, Mr Arc?"

"Of course, Professor."

He drew his sword and made to walk over, but he needn't have, as a tell-tale violet-black glow lit up around his blade, and Glynda Goodwitch's famed telekinesis levitated the weapon over to her for inspection.

Said weapon was, of course, not Crocea Mors – Jaune was neither cruel nor stupid, and would never in a thousand years choose to bring Anra steel to combat practice. Instead, he had with him a plain sword of ordinary steel, one worn and notched from the long years of practice he had given it.

After gently pressing the edge of his nameless practice blade down on her aura-protected skin, and finding no blood drawn, Glynda Goodwitch nodded her satisfaction, and floated the blade back to him.

Jaune gripped its hilt, and began walking leisurely towards the centre of the circle, where Cardin awaited with his mace hefted over his shoulder.

Goodwitch sighed, and looked as if she would still rather not do this; nonetheless, she called,

"Ready yourselves. Three –"

Gathering his aura, Jaune raised his sword to the heavens, and settled into his preferred starting position that was the high stance.

"– two –"

Cardin held his mace low and loose in two-handed grip.

"– one –"

Cardin's legs were straight, untensed, with the man himself unready, which meant –

"– _begin_!"

Jaune closed the distance in less time than it took to blink, and his sword smashed down upon Cardin's head.

Perfect – just as practised, and just as planned.

"Argh!"

Cardin cried out in real pain, even as his aura protected him from fatal damage.

That pain left him vulnerable to further attacks, but Jaune only kicked him away, instead of following up and ending the fight.

This wasn't out of consideration to Cardin, but it wasn't to humiliate him either – rather, it was for Jaune's own benefit, and for the sake of honing his skills to a deadly polish. In a real fight, with Crocea Mors in hand, such a successful strike would have been fatal, with no follow-up attacks needed. Practising any such continuation would have been wasted, and would have yielded no practical benefit. Instead, by giving Cardin space, and resetting the fight, Jaune got the chance to test himself once more, and to try out additional techniques drills as the circumstances saw fit.

Cardin was recovered by now, and with a roar, he hefted his mace.

Jaune shifted his shoulders, and tensed his legs, and all in all made a less-than-subtle show of his intention to lunge in once more.

Cardin, no fool, saw this, and swung his mace in a counter-strike that would have smashed Jaune's face in had it hit –

– though, of course, it didn't, as Jaune ended up only edging forward half a step, his feint successful and Cardin's mace passing inches in front of his face.

And now, with his enemy over-extended and unable to either defend or attack, Jaune struck – first with a blow to the hands, and then to the face.

Flawless – just as trained, and just as intended.

Cardin was really, really angry now. An animalistic roar ripping from his throat, he charged in, heedless.

And Jaune saw, with impossible clarity, the moment of vulnerability coming to be.

Immaculate – just as rehearsed, and just as formulated.

Fully committed to his attack, Cardin was unable to react to Jaune's perfectly chosen counter, of blocking under the head of the mace using the base of his blade, even while twisting around to cut –

Violet light and stygian darkness lit up the world, and a crushing pressure stopped Jaune cold.

On reflex, he fought it, but for all his strength, and all his power, he could not overcome that which had made elder Grimm cringe and cower.

"Enough. The fight is over."

Goodwitch's cool voice cut through to Jaune, and lifted him out of his combat haze – that single-minded focus he slipped into, so as to see through his opponent and to allow him to always choose right course of action.

The professor's telekinetic grip faded, on both himself and Cardin, and they stepped away from each other.

Cardin was glaring hatefully at him, but Jaune himself was more interested in looking at the arena screen, which showed –

– Cardin, and his aura at 30%.

That certainly explained why Goodwitch had stopped the fight – at 30%, there was no guarantee that Cardin could withstand another blow to the head, as Jaune was about to inflict, and escape significant injury.

Cardin didn't seem to have appreciated any of this nuance, however, and instead had stormed off without another word.

That was convenient, however, since it allowed Jaune to turn to Professor Goodwitch and quickly but quietly explain the reason for Cardin's antagonism – the bullying from that morning, and what Jaune did to stop it.

The Professor's face darkened, like the sky in storm, and with a soft voice more terrifying than thunder, promised to speak to the girl in question – one Velvet Scarlatina – and then take the appropriate disciplinary actions from there.

Well-satisfied, Jaune headed back up the stairs to the upper level of the arena, where he was received by the enthusiastic cheers of Team RVLY, and rewarded, by a beautiful smile and quiet congratulations from Pyrrha.

It left him with a warm, pleasant glow in his chest – and Jaune had to admit that having friends was the best.

-(=RWBY=)-


	3. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight II

Class subsequently passed without as much drama or excitement as before – since no other person had a burning hatred of anyone else, and since no duel save Pyrrha's turned out as one-sided as his.

Goodwitch took notes throughout the class, and promised that she would, by day's end, send each of them detailed suggestions on how to improve; she also encouraged everyone to ask her if there was something about her suggestions that they did not understand.

Since most of the fights didn't last too long, class ended up finishing a little early. A quick jaunt back to the dorms let them change out of combat gear and into their formal school attire, and then, while his team and RVLY headed off for lunch, Jaune made his apologies and excused himself – so as to go off to the library, where he had business.

No matter how much he might have enjoyed it, combat class was but one part of the Beacon curriculum; there were also more academic subjects, ranging from Grimm studies to history to logic.

It was that last subject which had brought him to the library; the professor had assigned some reading that students were encouraged to complete before the first lesson, but Jaune had failed to do so yesterday – what with the brutal argument with Weiss, followed by him throwing himself into training his newly-unlocked aura.

The library, as it turned out, was no less imposing than the combat arena. With tall shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, and books as innumerable as the Grimm, there seemed enough knowledge here to last a thousand lifetimes.

As it happened, Jaune was only interested in one particular book. After locating the Philosophy section, and trawling the section with authors whose name started with _O_, he found what he was looking for –

_An Introduction to Reasoning_, by Ozpin.

Jaune sighed.

Choosing an empty table and chair in the middle of nowhere, Jaune got down to reading, and...

... found himself pleasantly surprised. Ozpin was an engaging writer, and the subject matter was interesting in its own right – from the different modes of reasoning, to the types of logical fallacies one could fall prey to, to the sorts of heuristics and cognitive biases that existed.

Time flew, as it did, when one was suitably engaged, and soon enough Jaune had blown right through the introductory chapter. With some reluctance, he stopped; that was the prescribed reading done, and he didn't want to risk being late to his next class.

The book was interesting, however, and he decided it would make good recreational reading. Taking out his scroll, he opened the Beacon app, and navigated to the _Facilities_ page and then the _Library_ sub-page. Once there, he selected the check-out function and scanned the matrix barcode on the book.

Now able to bring the book out of the library without setting off every alarm in the place, Jaune made for the exit –

– only to stop short.

Sitting silently some distance away was Blake Belladonna, leaning back on her chair and utterly absorbed in reading a book.

Jaune hesitated, for a moment, but then steeled himself and began walking over to where Blake sat. Emboldened by that morning's success with Pyrrha, he decided not to be too hung up about the disastrous conversation at the cliffs, and instead make a second effort at befriending Blake.

Blake evidently sensed his coming, for she gave a visible sigh, and gently put her book face-down on the table – though still holding onto it, and never letting its pages slip close.

Not a word spoken, and already things weren't going well – clearly Blake expected to get back to her reading soon, and didn't want to speak for long, if at all.

"Hi, Blake."

"Jaune."

Blake's reply was neither friendly or hostile; it was just his name, said neutrally.

"Sorry for bothering you while you were reading."

"Yet here you are anyway."

Jaune ignored that passive-aggressive sally, in favour of laying out the substance of what he wanted to say.

"We had a bad start yesterday, and that's my fault. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for any offense I gave. I hope that you can forgive me, and that we can become friends. My mother always tells me –"

The mistake caught in his throat, and he corrected himself.

"– always told me that strangers are just friends you haven't met. And at a pragmatic level – we're stuck with each other for at least four years, if not more, and I don't think we can be an effective huntsman team unless we like and trust each other, right? "

Blake listened in silence to what Jaune had to say – never interrupting, and never interjecting. And even once he was done, she didn't respond immediately, instead taking a few seconds to gather her thoughts – and only then, saying,

"If you're worried about yesterday, don't be – it's not a big deal to me. As for being friends... take this from someone who has experienced more of the world than you. We can be an effective team without being fast friends. We need to work together, yes – but that doesn't mean liking each other. When the huntsmen of Vale joined together to stop the last titan-class Grimm invasion, did they have to like each other? When SDC security puts down rioting miners, are the Schnee footsoldiers all good friends? And do you think everyone in the White Fang sits around holding hands and singing songs – or are they professional enough to put aside their differences for the sake of a common purpose?"

Jaune drank in Blake's words. She was cynical; but that wasn't the same as being wrong. And, reading in between the lines, he could surmise that Blake wasn't interested in becoming friends – a fact he sought explicit clarification on, just to be sure.

"So I guess you aren't really looking to make friends with your teammates?"

"No, not really. Don't take it personally."

Jaune scratched his head, and his frustration must have leaked out onto his face, for Blake frowned – very slightly, and almost imperceptibly, before she smoothed her face into her usual mask. And with a tone on the edge of being biting, she said,

"No one is entitled to anyone else's love, or friendship. And when a person doesn't understand that..."

Blake trailed off. Her hand unconsciously clenched and unclenched, even as she herself looked into the distance, seemingly lost in thought.

Jaune could vaguely sense some sort of personal issue at play, and knew better than to press the matter. Rather, the rational, the _mature_ thing to do was just to say –

"I understand. I hope we can work well together, then, even if we aren't friends."

Blake was drawn back to reality by his words, and she quickly nodded.

"I look forward to us working together."

No smiles were exchanged, and no hands shaken; instead, Jaune gave a nod and Blake returned it.

Then she went back to her book, while he turned and left.

Jaune couldn't say he was happy; but he supposed he wasn't too upset either – despite his mother's optimistic words, you couldn't really make friends with everyone.

And if the wonderful thing Team RVLY had with each other was denied him...

... well, he would live with the disappointment; and it wasn't as if his happiness had been his highest concern since that day long years ago.

Jaune headed to the dining hall to grab a sandwich, which he then ate en route to the strange location where the upcoming Introductory Reasoning class was going to be held.

The building in question was a cylindrical-shaped structure perhaps five storeys tall, and located in the middle of a small lake. The lake itself was linked to a river which flowed westwards, where it would eventually merge with a larger river before pouring off the cliffs of Beacon in a beautiful, cascading waterfall.

As Jaune crossed the sheltered, high-roofed bridge that led over the small lake and to the building, Jaune noted how unwelcoming the structure appeared – with its smooth and dull-grey walls, and utter lack of windows.

If the place seemed like a disused prison, then that was because it was one – a fact Jaune discovered for himself once he entered.

Cells lined the whole circumference of the building, from first floor to fifth. A wide, open area dominated the middle of the building, and from the slightly elevated platform located at its centre, one could see every last corner of the building – be it the corridors running the circumference of the place, or each and every cell door.

Jaune's classmates had arrived before him, and were seated in some rickety old chairs arrayed upon the platform in a circle. And at the centre of that platform –

– the most beautiful woman in the world stood with arms folded.

Her black hair fell loose and carelessly to her bare shoulders. Her blood-red dress clung to her body even while stopping well above her knees, and in every curve it highlighted and in everything else it hid, there was only the caress of temptation and the hot whisper of sensuality. Her face, pale and perfect, elegant and ethereal, seemed almost too beautiful to be real.

Her eyes, though –

– her golden eyes burned like the sun, utterly pitiless and impossibly intense.

It was that intensity which finally broke Jaune out of his stupor, though not before his gawking irritated the woman – the professor – and moved her to snap,

"Stop staring and sit down, Arc."

He swallowed, and complied.

Blake soon joined them, and that was all of them. It was a small class for that afternoon, Jaune remembered – just his team along with RVLY and CRDL.

The mysterious woman, whom every boy present probably wanted to date, and whom every girl in existence wanted to be, began the lesson by introducing herself.

"My name is Cinder Fall. You may address me as _Professor_, _Professor Fall_, or simply as _Ms Fall_."

Unspoken was the warning not to be overly familiar. It was a warning that would be heeded, Jaune suspected. For all her beauty, she was a professor, and radiated danger besides. He highly doubted that any boy – or any girl – would be foolish enough to try and befriend her, let alone flirt with her.

Professor Fall was continuing her introduction.

"I am, at Headmaster Ozpin's personal request, here to teach you how to think, and reason, and know. You might think this a waste of time, so let me disabuse you of that notion through three ways. First, by showing you this."

Fall withdrew from a dress pocket a small golden medallion, and raised it up for all to see.

_! ! !_

Pyrrha gasped, Ruby squealed, and Cardin near toppled out of his chair when sheer amazement made him jerk up from his slouch.

And Jaune couldn't blame them – he was pretty damn shocked himself.

Ruby, meanwhile, was letting her excitement run away, and she all but babbled –

"Ohmygod you're a Champion I can't believe you're teaching us how awesome is that –"

It took Yang leaning over and gently putting a finger over Ruby's mouth to quiet the younger girl. As for Jaune, however – puzzlement and confusion was starting to overtake both his initial astonishment and sense of awe.

Ruby, of course, was right – the golden medallion meant that Cinder Fall was a Champion; an individual huntress so powerful she had been recognized as such by her Kingdom's Council, and been designated a national military asset.

That golden medallion which Fall was carelessly holding up to the light – that thing was proof that its owner had the power to single-handedly best titan-class Grimm. In the event that Goliaths and the like massed against the city, it was Cinder Fall and people of her calibre who were going to be on the frontlines, turning the tides of battle and giving heart to the city's defenders via the display of sheer inhuman power.

Which was why there was something deeply, deeply wrong with this whole situation.

"This can't be right."

Those words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could control himself –

– and Cinder Fall's golden eyes turned upon him.

"_What_ can't be right, Mr Arc?"

Neither his brain nor mouth seemed to be working, until seeing Cardin smirk at him from the corner of his eye pushed him to stop being an idiot. Marshalling his thoughts, and putting them into words, Jaune said,

"Apologies, Professor. All I meant was – going by your accent, you're Mistralian, and given your power, you are going to be one of maybe three people capable of holding back the Grimm if they do collapse upon the cities of Mistral. That being so, like, why are you here?"

Jaune didn't mean to sound accusing, but that was the way it came out. Almost stumbling over his words, Jaune rushed to say –

"I mean to say, you're essential to Mistral's national security, right? – so why would Headmaster Lionheart and the Mistralian Council risk the city, and the country, by countenancing you moving here and teaching us... reasoning?"

And it wasn't like Vale needed any defending; both Headmaster Ozpin and Deputy Headmistresses Glynda Goodwitch were Champions in their own right, and with them permanently stationed at Beacon, the city was always protected.

"There's more to you being here, isn't there?"

Jaune concluded with that question, and then fell silent.

The class, he realized, had shifted into an air of thoughtfulness – his reasoning had struck a chord.

Professor Fall, meanwhile, only raised an eyebrow, and commented,

"Interesting thought, Mr Arc. But worry not – smarter people than you are paid to think about the security of the Kingdoms. You, perhaps, should concentrate on your studies. Still –"

The professor looked around the class, the burn of her gaze sweeping each student in turn.

"– Mr Arc is not wrong in one respect. A person like myself _is_ vital to humanity's efforts in keeping the Grimm at bay. My time is precious, and measured in terms of lives saved and deaths averted; for every moment I spend at Beacon is a moment not spent hunting Grimm who could otherwise slaughter villages. And yet here I am anyway, teaching you. That should show you how much importance Professor Ozpin places on this class, and on you learning how to think and reason effectively. I trust, therefore, that you will give my lessons your fullest attention."

"Yes, Professor!"

The chorus of agreement spontaneously broke out, as the class was newly apprised of just how much was being sacrificed to afford them this opportunity to learn.

Fall gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, before continuing.

"Of course, you might still doubt the usefulness of what you will learn from me. So let me just say this.

"I have torn apart Beringels with my bare hands. Reduced Goliaths to ash and cinder, with but whispered words and the snap of my fingers. Seen, and survived, ancient powers capable of bringing down the sky and making even death die.

"In other words, I am one of the most powerful beings on Remnant. So believe me when I tell you that there are some monsters that mere might cannot match; some problems that force cannot solve; some evils that all the power in the world cannot vanquish. Sometimes, instead – you must resort to thinking, and be clever about things."

There was real emotion – even if greatly restrained – behind the words Cinder Fall just spoke.

And Jaune... was conflicted. Rationally, he knew she was right – power was not a panacea, and only an idiot would think it possible to punch one's way to paradise, or to a world free of death and discrimination and deprivation. But, at an emotional level – Jaune had seen, with his own two eyes, what power could do to protect, and how the lack thereof caused suffering and death.

Professor Fall was glancing over the class once more.

"Perhaps you still doubt my words. So allow me to demonstrate the truth of what I say."

Fall casually waved her hand through the air, as if in emphasis.

"Scenario one. A small village in southern Anima has recently seen an uptick in Grimm attacks – and to make matters worse, a bandit tribe was reputedly spotted in the area."

"You and a team of fellow elite huntsmen are deployed to the village. However, upon arrival, you find the village destroyed, the inhabitants dead and Grimm wandering the place. The challenge now is to identify whether it was purely a Grimm attack that caused this tragedy, or if bandits had first attacked the village, with the Grimm only pouring in later. If the former, there is nothing to be done. If the latter, you will need to hunt down the bandits and eliminate them.

"Naturally, your team examines the villagers' remains. Unfortunately, they yield no information of value – the Grimm have so thoroughly ripped apart the bodies that one can barely identify them as human, let alone tell the original cause of death. How, then, do you identify the party responsible for the village's destruction?"

Her description of the scenario complete, Cinder Fall folded her arms, and awaited an answer.

All around, everyone was frowning – either in puzzlement, or because they were deep in thought.

Jaune brought fingers up to rub at his temples.

_Think, think._

His mind went back to what he had read at noon – Ozpin's _Introduction to Reasoning_, and how it emphasized the way inference to the best explanation could arrive at the truth. If something was true, what else would have happened? And if something were false, what wouldn't they observe?

So – if indeed the bandits had attacked, what would have ensued?

Well, surely they had attacked for a reason – to get dust, and vehicles, and of course food. They would have –

"The granary! We should check the granary!"

Jaune blurted out the answer he had arrived at.

Professor nodded, in the closest thing to approval one seemed to be able to get from her.

"Correct. If it were bandits who had attacked, they would have raided the village's granaries for supplies, leaving nothing behind; if it were Grimm, no such thing would have happened, and what grain the village had would still be rotting away there. Scenario two –"

There was no rest, as Professor Fall began posing the next question.

"Your team has been charged with culling the Grimm in eastern Vacuo – specifically, area VC-51-63. You are encamped on the slope of a small mountain overlooking the desert, when one moonless night, the Grimm pour in from the west onto your position. You have a fight on your hands.

"One of your teammates suggests splitting up, and holding your own positions rather than fighting in a single place. In support of this suggestion, he cites statistical evidence that teams which adopt such a strategy are approximately twice as likely to fend off Grimm hordes in the open wilderness.

"Assuming the statistic is accurate, do you adopt such a strategy?"

Silence reigned, and Jaune himself was momentarily stumped. It took some time for the complete answer to dawn on him, and by then –

"Professor Fall!"

Weiss Schnee's hand had shot up, while the girl herself had a look of unbridled enthusiasm on her face.

"Miss Schnee."

Fall acknowledged Weiss with a nod, and that was all the permission Weiss needed to launch into her proposed explanation.

"We ought not adopt such a strategy, Professor, because correlation does not entail causation. That is to say, it may not be holding separate positions per se which causes a more successful defence against Grimm hordes. Instead, it could well be that certain teams – perhaps those specializing in area of effect abilities – choose such strategies so as to not hurt each other with crossfire, _and_ also achieve greater success by virtue of such crowd-control abilities."

A nod from Professor Fall indicated the accuracy of Weiss's answer.

"Correct. Scenario three –"

Again, Professor Fall wasted no time in moving on to the next question.

"You are a consultant retained by the Atlesian military. General James Ironwood has personally asked that you and your team of analysts look into improving Atlesian armour, so as to reduce fatalities and casualties.

"A comprehensive survey of existing Atlas troops suggests that the most commonly damaged part of a soldier's armour are the armguards and the leg greaves. This being so, it seems commonsensical to simply up-armour those parts, and protect these commonly-attacked areas from damage.

"Is this an optimal design choice?"

Jaune felt his eyes narrowing, as the answer came to him swiftly –

– but Blake Belladonna beat him to the punch.

Almost hesitantly, she raised her hand, even as she said,

"It's sub-optimal, Professor. The reason existing soldiers' armour are damaged in those areas is that _these are the soldiers who survived_; the ones unlucky enough to have been shot in the head or chest are dead, and aren't available to answer any survey. Therefore, it would be silly to focus on improving the armour on a soldier's arms or legs – those aren't the parts where a well-placed shot is fatal."

Professor Fall nodded as Blake finished her explanation.

"Correct."

And to the class, she said,

"Very good, all of you. I am impressed at the intelligence on display. Perhaps this will not be a complete waste of my time, after all.

"Now – to the lesson proper. We shall a play a game called Beowolf; have any of you heard of it?"

Everyone shook their heads, except for Weiss, who nodded. The class's ignorance of the game did not seem to surprise Professor Fall, who merely went on to explain –

"Beowolf is a game of deception, played between two groups: innocent villagers, and murderous Beowolves. The Beowolves masquerade as villagers during day, but then transform into their lupine form to kill villagers at night. The villagers do not know who the Beowolves are – as they are otherwise indistinguishable from a human – but can, during the day, vote to lynch people suspected of being Beowolves in disguise. The conflict, in essence, is between an informed minority – the Beowolves – and an uninformed majority – the villagers – with both sides seeking to kill the other before they themselves are killed.

"The villagers have a further advantage, however – for some of them have special abilities. There is the Sage, who can use their power during the night to identify whether a particular individual is Beowolf or human. And then there is the Huntsman, who can protect any individual – aside from himself – from being killed by the Beowolves at night. And finally, there are the Partners, two villagers who know for certain that the other is a human.

"The game plays out in two phases: day, and night. During the day, everyone discusses matters and then may vote to lynch a single person – and if that person is a Beowolf, they will transform back into their lupine form upon death. Meanwhile, during the night, the Beowolves will come together and choose a single villager to kill.

"That's the game – no more, no less. Kill, or be killed. Win, or die."

Professor Fall wrapped up her explanation of the game with that pithy summary, and then – with a few deft taps of her scroll – sent an email pinging off to everyone's scrolls.

"In the message I've just sent, you will find a recap of everything I just said, along with additional details – the most important of which is the fact that, given the twelve of you, there will be three Beowolves and nine villagers. Take ten minutes to familiarize yourself with the game, and then plan out a strategy. After that, we begin."

The buzz of excited conversation immediately rose to a pitch, as everyone started animatedly discussing the game they were about to play.

Jaune, however, immediately pulled his scroll out and got down to re-reading the rules. Weiss, he noted – through the corner of his eyes – was doing much the same.

After making sure that he knew the parameters of the game like the back of his hand, Jaune pivoted to hurriedly searching the internet for discussions of Beowolf and the optimal strategies one could employ.

This game was, ultimately, not much different from sword-fighting, or so Jaune thought. You had to read your opponent and make the right choice accordingly. You didn't play the game; you played your enemy.

Professor Fall called time, and once everyone put away their scrolls and ended their chatter, the she said,

"Within the Beacon app, go to the _Classes_ page and then the _Introductory Reasoning_ sub-page. Select the last button, entitled _Beowolf_."

Jaune did as he was told, as did everyone else, and a page with nothing but a vaguely ominous wolf symbol popped up onto his screen.

"I will be running the game, and _communicating to you through this particular program, as such_."

In demonstration, Professor Fall spoke the latter part of her sentence into her scroll; and correspondingly, her voice echoed clearly from every student's own device.

"Privately messaging one another is prohibited. I am able to tell if you navigate away from this program's page, and will suspend you from the game. Now, follow me."

Cinder Fall led the class of twelve towards one side of the former prison, and it was then Jaune realized the reason their class was being held in so strange a location.

"Each of you is to enter a cell; the relevant cell number will be displayed on your screen."

Jaune glanced at his scroll, and saw that he had gotten cell one, located right next to the entrance. He headed there, and nodded encouragement to Pyrrha as he did; she looked somewhat stressed out at the change of pace this class had proven to be.

The automated cell door slid open at his coming, before closing once more upon his entering.

Absolute silence settled over the cell – and it didn't take long for Jaune to realize that the walls were sound-proof. And –

Jaune cocked his head, and concentrated on sensing any nearby auras, only to get nothing.

The walls were aura-absorbent as well, it seemed – a useful ability, for a prison, for it made locating and breaking out any particular prisoner all the more difficult. Professor Fall, it seemed, had taken advantage of this feature to run her game – one couldn't just cheat by sensing who was leaving their cell during the night phase.

And speak of the devil –

Cinder Fall's voice, amplified by the silence it broke, spilled from his scroll.

"Students, look to the screens of your scrolls, and you will see your role for this game."

Right before his eyes, the wolf symbol dissolved, to be replaced by big, bold letters.

_SAGE_

Well – that _was_ interesting.

Jaune's mind whirled, and he began adjusting his strategy, even as Professor Fall declared –

"The first day begins. Everyone, leave your cells."

His automated cell door, presumably under the Professor's control, slid open, and Jaune joined all classmates in stepping out.

Almost unconsciously, everyone fell into a circle formation. Jaune's eyes flitted from face to face throughout, trying to suss out who looked suspicious – but no one seemed to be acting out of the ordinary.

Weiss took the lead, by declaring,

"As the only one with prior experience at this game, I believe I should provide leadership to the village, so that we can beat the Beowolves in our midst. You need not trust me – only listen to whatever I suggest, and then decide for yourselves whether they make logical sense. That sounds reasonable, at least to me – unless someone else has a better idea?"

Some people didn't seem convinced, but on the whole the group seemed inclined to support Weiss, as cautious nods and assenting murmurs met her suggestion.

Jaune himself schooled his face carefully, even as his mind raced through the implications.

Weiss, he knew, was going to have an outsized impact on the game. She was clever, she was assertive, and she seemed to be taking this game very seriously indeed. If she was a villager, she would provide valuable strategic guidance to the village in hunting down the Beowolves while avoiding mis-lynches; but if she herself was a Beowolf in sheep's clothing, she could absolutely destroy them by directing lynches against the innocent and away from her own cabal of Beowolves. Weiss, in short, could be a powerful asset – or a deadly threat.

The million lien question, then, was –

_Is she a Beowolf?_

It was hard to say. Coming out like that painted a target on her back, for the Beowolves would want to eliminate strong players capable of guiding the village. That Weiss chose to assert herself nonetheless could indicate that she was a Beowolf who didn't have to fear being killed at night...

... or it could just be her ego guiding her actions; Weiss, from what Jaune had gathered of her, would never be content letting others take the spotlight, even if that was the optimal strategy to undertake.

Even as Jaune was thinking things through, Blake spoke up and pushed back against the girl she so deeply disliked.

"How typical of a Schnee to think that they have a divine right to rule, while others should bow down and follow."

Upon hearing this, Weiss made a garbled sound of indignation, but Blake only plowed forward.

"I wouldn't necessarily trust Weiss. She might be a Beowolf, and with her greater experience at this game, she'll be able to make any arguments for lynching even innocent people sound very reasonable and very convincing – and we'll never be able to catch her out, since we aren't knowledgeable enough to identify the deeper flaws in what she says. Maybe someone like Ruby won't be able to fool us and string us along – but someone like Weiss Schnee can."

"_Why, you!_"

Blake, as Jaune thought, would be another important player in the game – on account of her cleverness, and the way second-guessing the motives others seemed to be second nature to her in a way it wasn't to the likes of Pyrrha or Ruby.

As for whether she was a Beowolf or villager – as with Weiss, it was hard to say. She had to know that making such an argument, and in so a provocative manner, could not fail to trigger an acrimonious quarrel. Since sowing dissent and making things devolve into chaos weakened the villagers' ability to work together, that could indicate that Blake was a Beowolf...

... or it could just mean her profound dislike of Weiss triumphed her desire to win; that was more than likely, and certainly Jaune himself wouldn't have prioritized a game over sticking it to a person whose family was notorious for mistreating his whole race of people.

Regardless of Blake's motives, an all-out argument seemed imminent, and Jaune was forced to step in.

"Come on, fighting is counterproductive. I have a number of suggestions."

Both girls glared at him, which was still a step in the right direction, as it meant they were no longer on the brink of shouting at each other.

"Firstly – those of us who are villagers should, going forward, pay attention to voting patterns. Say we're about to lynch a person for being suspicious, but they escape when others come to their defence – and say this keeps happening. The suspect is probably a Beowolf, and his fellow Beowolves are likely amongst his defenders.

"Secondly – the Beowolves are likely to want to kill prominent players who show cleverness and leadership capability, but they will also eventually pivot to leaving a trail of misdirection leading away from themselves. Don't be fooled by this. Say that two people are at each other's throats – could be Weiss and Blake, or me and Cardin – and then one of the two are eaten at night. That causes suspicion to fall on the other party, but remember – the Beowolves aren't so stupid as to kill off people they were arguing with during the day, and there's a good chance that someone's being framed.

"Thirdly, and possibly most importantly – the Sage, whoever you are, should obviously not reveal yourself right now, since the Beowolves will just eat you; rather, keep your head down and focus on using your power to confirm who else is a human. Concentrate on confirming the identities of people who are likely to survive. The goal is to build a list of confirmed, surviving humans, because once you have such a list _and_ you're in the majority of remaining players, you've basically won. You can lynch the remaining unconfirmed players, one by one, until the Beowolves are dead. It doesn't matter if some within your majority die at night, because at the rate of one lynch a day and one murder at night, you'll always have at least one vote more than the Beowolves, and you'll always control the lynch. Simple enough, right?"

The end of his long explanation was met by nods – and Jaune was relieved. His goal here was threefold. One, to get the villagers to adopt an effective strategy; two, to garner trust so that he wouldn't be lynched; and three, to make himself such an obvious target for the Beowolves that the Huntsman would come to the same realization and choose to protect him at night.

Cardin, however, threw a wrench into his plans.

"Tch, Arc, what a nerd. I bet you read all of this up on some gaming forum. But why are you telling us this, huh?"

Cardin glared around the circle, as he let that question sink in.

"Don't all his suggestions double as warnings for the Beowolves? Like, now they know that they have to be careful with how they vote if they want to avoid outing themselves. Also, didn't like Arc just pre-emptively cover his ass in case I get eaten, with all that nonsense about how if two people are fighting and one gets killed, the other might be being framed? And all that stuff about the Sage – couldn't that be a trick, too? What if he comes out later as the Sage, and then with his Beowolf buddies and a couple of villagers who don't know better, just lynch the rest of us?"

Jaune's narrowed eyes betrayed his frustration – Cardin couldn't have ruined his plans more perfectly if he was actively trying to. Of all the times to show that for all his brawn he didn't lack brains, Cardin just had to pick now to do so.

The really frustrating thing, however, was that Jaune couldn't say for certain whether Cardin was Beowolf or villager. He could be the former, and trying to actively ruin Jaune's attempt to guide the village...

... or Cardin could just hate him, and be a villager all the same. It was the same dilemma that was inherent in the dispute between Weiss and Blake – there were perfectly good explanations for their actions, regardless of their true alignment.

Lie Ren chose that moment to intervene.

"I believe that Cardin isn't necessarily wrong to suspect Jaune, but Jaune's suggestions are logical and have merit regardless of whether we trust him. I do think we should observe how people vote, since that is the only way we can identify a Beowolf. I am also of the opinion that we should not rush to judgement in the event that, say, Blake dies and Weiss is suspected – since it will always be riskier for a Beowolf to kill off their direct rival than to focus on other villagers. And finally, I would like to register my support for Jaune's proposed strategy for the Sage – it is how we are going to win, and we just need to ensure that the Beowolves are not in the assembled majority."

Jaune nodded gratefully.

Of the players who had spoken, and who were likely to go on and influence the game – Weiss and Blake, Cardin and Ren – Ren was the one he hoped was human the most. Cardin hated him, while Weiss and Blake were too caught up in mutual mistrust to lead the village effectively – but Ren, with his intelligence, impartiality and calmness would be a valuable ally.

That Ren had defended him wasn't evidence of his alignment one way or the other, however. He could be a villager speaking up in honest support of suggestions he thought reasonable – or he could be a Beowolf wary of supporting Cardin and getting Jaune lynched, when this would cause suspicion to rebound to him after Jaune died and was revealed to be human.

"Students. Time is short, and you must now vote."

Professor Fall, who had all this while been watching expressionlessly from the sidelines, called the discussion to a close, and opened the floor instead to votes.

"We should lynch Arc."

Cardin made his view known – to no one's surprise – and his team immediately backed him.

Eager to avoid getting dogpiled – and unwilling to reveal his identity as the Sage so early in the game – Jaune had no choice but to target Cardin in turn.

"And I vote against Winchester."

As expected, Pyrrha, backed him. Blake, too, cast her vote against Cardin – doubtlessly not out of any liking for Jaune, but due to the Winchester family's infamous reputation for anti-faunus bigotry. Weiss, meanwhile, voted for Jaune, all the while frowning.

The decision ultimately came down to Ren, whose team looked to him to take the lead. After weighty consideration, he said,

"I do not believe there is strong reason to think either Jaune or Cardin are Beowolves; in fact, I think it more likely that those who are avoiding attention are the ones we should suspect. But if it is a choice between the two... I believe Jaune has been more useful, and so I shall vote against Cardin."

RVLY proceeded to vote the same way as Ren, and the final vote came out as 7-5 against Cardin.

The larger boy shook his head in disgust, while Professor Fall stepped in once more to direct the game to its next stage.

"Mr Winchester, please return to your cell, where you will stay for the remainder of the game. You may watch and listen to any discussions happening out here on the screen of your scroll."

Cardin stood, scowled, and gave a parting shot.

"I'm a human, and you'll find out soon enough. Arc's the Beowolf – lynch him next, or you'll lose."

He walked back to cell, glowering all the while. Once his door slid close, Professor Fall proclaimed –

"Mr Winchester has been lynched, and his body remains human."

Jeers erupted from the remaining members of CRDL, while Ruby gave a loud exclamation of dismay – and Jaune could feel the noose tightening around his neck. He was going to be the prime target for lynching the next day – and he really needed to have a persuasive case ready for why he should be spared.

"The first day ends. Please return to your cells."

Everyone headed back. Once within the silent confines of his cell, Professor Fall spoke through the scroll.

"The first night begins. Beowolves, leave your cells. Any villagers with special abilities may also exercise them now."

The wolf sigil on his scroll faded away, replaced by the images of his classmates.

Jaune had some thinking to do.

As per the strategy he had suggested to everyone, he – the Sage – needed to build a list of confirmed, surviving humans. And while Jaune really wanted to know whether he could trust Ren, he was a poor choice to use his power on, for his intelligence and assertiveness made him a prime target for being killed – if not tonight, then in the coming nights. The same reasoning applied to Weiss and Blake – the Beowolves would want to eliminate those other two potentially influential villagers, and if the Beowolves thought the Huntsman likely to prioritize protecting Ren, they would almost certainly eat one of Weiss or Blake, and then manipulate the village into lynching the other the very next day.

In short, Ren, Weiss and Blake all had poorer than average odds of surviving till the endgame – the safer choice, with respect to building his list, was hence someone not so prominent. It was also preferable that the person in question have no obvious link to him, so that that if he ever had to come out as the Sage, the Beowolves couldn't just whittle down his list of confirmed humans by going after people he would likely have prioritized checking – people like his own partner, for example.

Pyrrha was definitely out. Instead, he chose –

_Ruby._

On his scroll, Jaune tapped at his new friend's face; and, when a message popped up asking for confirmation, he tapped _Yes_.

_Villager._

Jaune nodded with grim satisfaction.

This was good – for it was the first step forwards getting his confirmed majority of humans. If his skill was equal to the task of identifying probable humans during the second day's voting – or, if the village got lucky and the two Partners survived past the second night – the confirmed majority could be assembled as soon as the third day.

The downside, however, was that he now had no guarantee against being lynched. Had he found a Beowolf, he could always resort to revealing his own identity, getting the discovered Beowolf lynched and then rely on the Huntsman to protect him.

Now, though...

Jaune brooded over the range of possibilities and permutations facing him, and the question he kept coming back to –

_How smart are the Beowolves?_

If he was overestimating their cunning, he was only going to get lynched for his efforts. Unless –

_Oh._

Jaune grinned.

A plan came to him, elegant and beautiful and breathtaking in its audacity – and Jaune knew that he wasn't abour to lose.

"The first night ends. Beowolves, return to your cells."

After a short pause, Professor Fall spoke again.

"The second day begins. Survivors, leave your cells."

His door slid open – which meant Jaune had survived the night. This was expected – for the Beowolves wouldn't have wasted their kill on someone they thought likely to be lynched soon.

Jaune walked out, and fell in with everyone else to form their circle. And the one person conspicuous in their absence was –

– Nora.

Ren was frowning, and Jaune found his own brows furrowing as well.

Nora made no sense as a target – or did she?

The answer dawned on Jaune, slowly but surely.

From the point of the view of the Beowolves, Ren was the most dangerous villager in the game. As the only influential villager not tarnished by suspicion or mistrust, he was probably going be protected by the Huntsman for the foreseeable future. And while Ren would lose that protection as soon as Jaune himself came out as the Sage and the Huntsman switched to guarding him, the Beowolves didn't know that. They couldn't risk Ren being the Sage, and him being protected as he built up a list of confirmed humans – so rationally, they would go after the villagers whose identities he would prioritize checking.

People like his own partner, of course.

But –

– Jaune's more sceptical side could not help but play the devil's advocate, and it occurred to him that Nora's elimination could well mean that Ren was a Beowolf tying up loose ends; getting rid of his childhood friend and long-time partner, who could well tell if he was acting strangely or hiding something.

Jaune shook his head; these thoughts were pointless, and nothing would change what he needed to do now.

Ren cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him.

"Unfortunately, it seems that Nora had been eaten. But we must proceed with the game – Jaune, do you have anything to say for yourself? After Cardin turned out to be a human, you're naturally under the most suspicion – but I think it's only fair you get to argue your innocence before we move to a formal vote."

Jaune nodded his thanks, and played his trump.

"I'm the Sage –"

Ren perked up in interest, but looks of suspicion were what predominated in most people's faces – no doubt, to them, this looked like a desperate and futile attempt to escape lynching.

"– and I want to ask everyone, who wants to be checked and confirmed as human?"

The world seemed to freeze, just for a moment.

And then Ren's hand shot up, with Weiss's and Blake's not far behind. Soon enough everyone else followed suit, as understanding spread through the class like wildfire, and as everyone came to the realization that keeping one's hand down was as good as an admission that one was a wolf.

Some people were faster on the uptake; others slower – but Jaune didn't care about any of that, instead focusing everyone's faces.

An innocent villager, even if slow to react, would only look mildly perturbed – after all, what did they fear from being checked by the Sage?

A Beowolf, in contrast, would look alarmed and panic-stricken – which was exactly the face Russel Thrush was giving as he raised his hand.

He managed to school his expression eventually – but it was too late.

Jaune wasn't the only one who had noticed – others had as well, particularly Blake, who pounced.

"Thrush, I've seen literal criminals look less guilty than you."

The wiry boy was now frozen – unable to speak, unable to act. It was only after long seconds that he shook his head, collected himself, and tried to mount a belated defence.

"No, wait – Jaune's the Beowolf; _I'm_ the Sage. He got Cardin – an innocent villager – lynched yesterday, and now he's trying to skirt the blame by pretending to be the Sage."

It was too little, too late – abstract reasoning, particularly anything this as weak, couldn't convince others of your innocence once they had seen the guilt in your face. That momentary mistake, that one unguarded expression, had led to absolute self-incrimination, and now there was no escape.

Weiss sighed in disgust.

"This is a farce. Let us lynch Thrush first, and if he turns out to be human, then we lynch Arc tomorrow. Agreed?"

The group gave its assent, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Dove Bronzewing and Sky Lark were none to eager to lynch their teammate and friend, but had no real argument against the cold, clear logic of Weiss's proposal. Yang, meanwhile, seemed positively bloodthirsty, as she cheered something along the lines of _string him up!_

Jaune, of course, was more than happy with what Weiss suggested, and said as much.

"I agree with Weiss. Let's just vote, we'll have the truth of it. But let me just add just one thing – once I'm confirmed as the Sage, I would like ask that the Huntsman protect me both tonight and for the rest of the game."

The final vote came to 7-3 against Thrush, and Professor Fall promptly sent him back to his cell, before announcing –

"Mr Thrush has been lynched, and his body turns into the corpse of a Beowolf, before dissipating completely."

Some cheers broke out, driven primarily by an enthusiastic Ruby, before Professor Fall brought things to a close.

"The second day ends. Please return to your cells."

It was with deep satisfaction, at a plan well made and a job well done, that Jaune returned to his cell.

"The second night begins. Beowolves, leave your cells. Any villagers with special abilities may also exercise them now."

Jaune took stock of thing. There were nine players left – seven humans and two Beowolves. In terms of building his confirmed majority of humans, Jaune was still some distance away – for he could only really be certain that Ruby and himself were innocent.

The vote from that day, and the Beowolf kill from the night before, however, were great potential sources of information – he just had to think things through.

On the night kill, and Nora being eaten – Jaune was, after further reflection, somewhat surprised. He would have expected the Beowolves to go after either Weiss or Blake – after all, if they were both humans, killing one and framing the other would have deprived the village of two influential villagers.

That such a thing hadn't happened would therefore mean that it _wasn't_ the case that both were innocent villagers. If at least one of them were a Beowolf, in contrast, then everything made sense – they couldn't kill their rival, even if said rival had the potential to provide clever analysis and proper guidance to the village, since that would just implicate themselves.

Jaune didn't have a clue who was the Beowolf – Weiss, or Blake – but in terms of whom to investigate, it didn't matter. Since his goal was to build his list of confirmed humans, it just meant that it was wiser to focus on people other than the two of them.

Jaune moved on to thinking about the events leading up to Russel Thrush being successfully lynched.

A simplistic analysis would straightforwardly suggest that everyone who voted for the Beowolf to be lynched was an innocent villager acting in good faith, while everyone who voted to protect Thrush was potentially a fellow Beowolf – but this was, Jaune thought, clearly wrong.

After all, both Weiss and Blake had voted to lynch Thrush, and at least one of them was a Beowolf – and in general, it wasn't hard to imagine Thrush's fellow Beowolves throwing him under the bus once it was clear he was a lost cause. Indeed, the fact that Dove and Sky stuck with their teammate made Jaune inclined to think they were villagers; had they been Beowolves, they would surely have been strategic about matters, and turned against their compatriot to protect themselves.

In the end, Jaune made his choice –

_Dove._

He tapped at the boy's face on the screen of his scroll, and then pressed to confirm.

_Villager._

Jaune rubbed his chin.

This was good to know, and brought his list of confirmed humans up to three. The question now was whether he ought to try and initiate the endgame come the third day. On the one hand, he didn't have a clear majority yet; on the other hand, tarrying too long would result in his confirmed humans being picked off. He also had to worry about whether the Huntsman – and, by extension, himself – would last for many more rounds.

Perhaps it was time to call out the Partners and ask them to identify themselves. If they were both alive, the game was all but won; and if they weren't –

Another glorious plan came to mind, and Jaune knew – victory was going to be his.

"The second night ends. Beowolves, return to your cells."

After giving enough time for the Beowolves to return, Professor Fall spoke again.

"The third day begins. Survivors, leave your cells."

Jaune's door slid open; it seemed the Huntsman had done his job.

The cell next to his, however, failed to open – and it was apparent that Pyrrha had been killed that night.

Jaune was pleased – both with events, and with himself; the former, because both his confirmed humans were alive; the latter, because he had the foresight to avoid wasting a confirmation check on Pyrrha. It was inevitable, once he came out as the Sage, that the Beowolves would go after his partner – the person whose identity he would naturally check before anyone else's.

The remaining players formed their circle once more, though with eight of them it was much reduced from the first day.

Jaune moved to take control.

"I have good news. I have confirmed enough humans that I think the village can win today."

Weiss didn't seemed impressed – and neither did Blake. They both frowned, and Jaune could almost see them turning the numbers around in their heads, and seeing how they didn't add up.

Without giving them the chance to object, Jaune continued.

"I can declare that I've checked Ruby Rose and Dove Bronzewing, and confirmed that both are humans."

Ruby looked surprised, but pleasantly so.

"Yep, I'm human, that's me!"

Dove, more reserved, nodded his confirmation and gave a terse,

"Yeah, of course."

Jaune now looked around, and asked,

"I would like to request that the Partners reveal themselves – or, if one of you is already dead, just reveal you yourself."

A beat.

Then, Weiss, Ren and Yang all raised their hands simultaneously, and all hell broke loose.

"What the hell?"

"Don't be fooled by her! She's lying."

"I can confirm that Weiss and I are the Partners."

The cacophony got worse as Blake sniped at Weiss, while a confused Ruby raised her voice and asked how there could be three Partners.

Jaune thought that the Professor might have stepped in then, to restore order, but when he turned to her, she only stared back impassively.

Jaune sighed. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to shout –

– but Blake got there first.

"ENOUGH!"

Her voice was neither deep, nor strong – but there was an authoritative air about it nonetheless.

Blake, Jaune realized, was someone who was used to command, and to having her orders obeyed. There was history here, but Jaune had no time to think too deeply about it, for the girl in question turned to him and said,

"Jaune. Proceed."

"Alright. Thanks, Blake."

He turned to look at Weiss, Ren and Yang.

"Weiss and Ren – you two say that you are the Partners, right?"

"That's what I said, Arc."

"That's correct, Jaune."

"And Yang – you say you're a Partner as well?"

Yang nodded, and replied,

"Yep, with Nora, but then she got eaten."

"Thank you. Here's why the we humans have won. We just need to lynch Yang."

Yang looked ready to protest – with her fist – but Jaune held out a hand, and moved quickly to explain.

"If Yang turns out to be a Beowolf, then Weiss and Ren must be telling the truth, and we have five confirmed humans in myself, Ruby, Dove, Weiss, and Ren. Then, even if one of us gets killed tonight, the remaining four can lynch Blake and Sky over the fourth and fifth days until you get the last Beowolf. Even if you initially mis-lynch on day four, the remaining Beowolf can only bring the humans down to three people during the fourth night, and by the fifth day you have him dead to rights.

"And if Yang turns out to be a human? Well, then Weiss and Ren are lying, and we have five confirmed humans in myself, Ruby, Dove, Blake and Sky. Same principles apply – even if one of us gets killed tonight, the remaining four can lynch Weiss and Ren over consecutive days, because they can't kill us fast enough before we kill them."

After Jaune finished his explanation, Yang looked suitably impressed, and Ren seemed thoughtful – Weiss, meanwhile, was apoplectic, and it didn't take a genius to tell who had been the Beowolf all along.

"Good work, class. A credible first attempt at the game."

Professor Fall chose that moment to step in. A casual tap of her scroll caused the eliminated players' cell doors to open, allowing Pyrrha and the others to rejoin the class. The Professor then asked,

"Can anyone – besides Mr Arc, Miss Schnee or Mr Ren – tell me why the latter two chose to identify themselves as the Partners, despite the risk of lying and being contradicted, as in fact happened? Yes, Miss Belladonna?"

Blake had put her hand up almost immediately, but now put it down once more, before saying,

"Because if they let Yang identify herself unchallenged, the humans would have had four confirmed votes out of eight. In such a scenario, it wouldn't have been difficult to persuade at least one of the other two real humans, whoever they were, to vote with them.

"With this majority, Jaune could have directed the lynch against the most suspicious individuals – Weiss or myself. As many of you must have realized by now, the fact that neither of us were dead by the third day was a strong indication that one of us was a Beowolf. Had we both been villagers, the Beowolves would have killed one of us, and framed the other. That didn't happen, of course, because one of us – Weiss – _was_ a Beowolf, and couldn't risk bringing suspicion upon herself by killing me.

"Keeping this in mind, the humans would have voted to lynch either myself or Weiss. If they choose correctly, and Weiss is lynched and revealed to be a Beowolf, I am cleared – giving the humans a solid majority of five, which can proceed to lynch the remaining two unconfirmed individuals and eventually get Ren, the last Beowolf.

"If the humans chose incorrectly, and I am lynched, that complicates things. Weiss would of course be outed as a Beowolf, and Jaune could investigate the identity of one of the two remaining unconfirmed individuals – Sky or Ren – and by process of elimination determine who was the remaining human. Assuming the Huntsman still lived and protected him, Jaune would out Ren on the fourth day, and the human majority could proceed to lynch the Beowolves accordingly."

"If the Huntsman were dead, however –"

At that point, Pyrrha gave an embarrassed wave.

"– then Jaune would die. After lynching Weiss on the fourth day and having another confirmed human killed that night, the fifth day will see two confirmed humans, and two unconfirmed individuals, one of whom is a Beowolf. At that point, I suspect the confirmed humans will have a better than even chance of winning – I think Sky was obviously the less suspicious one, given how he defended Russell when a Beowolf would have just cut his losses and let his ally die."

Blake paused, and frowned, before concluding with –

"Ultimately, not identifying themselves as the Partners would have been a better strategy, but I believe Jaune set the trap well, and put enough pressure on Weiss and Ren that they didn't have time to think things through. The situation probably reminded them of what happened on day two, when Russel outed himself, and so they made a snap decision – wrong on hindsight – to pretend to be the Partners."

It was a long explanation, but correct, and Professor Fall rewarded Blake with a nod that could almost be considered approving.

"Good. Now, not that this game matters in any objective sense of the term, but if you enjoy both it and the intellectual challenge it brings, I encourage you to play it in your own time.

"In terms of how each of you might improve – for most of you, who did not participate very much, you might consider reading some general strategy guides online.

"As for those of you who did participate – Mr Winchester, you must realize that this is a ultimately a social game, and if the majority is composed of people who are not inclined to like or trust like you, then you must adjust your strategy according. Miss Schnee, your attempt to take control of the game at the outset was a high-risk one incommensurate to the dangers it posed to you as a Beowolf; it was ultimately your downfall and I would not recommend using such a strategy as a rule. Mr Ren, you were excellent at avoiding suspicion, but remember that your ultimate goal as a Beowolf is to kill the villagers, and that this sometimes means drawing suspicion. Miss Belladonna, you were too passive; from the analysis you just provided, I believe you could have contributed more to the game, had you let yourself. Mr Arc, you made an excellent comeback, but it was a hole you dug yourself into in the first place – a Sage should not draw attention to themselves in the early game, and you cannot always rely on clever tricks and the mistakes of others to succeed."

The class listened intently to Professor Fall's advice, and Jaune found himself nodding along, even to the criticism directed against him. It was true – on hindsight, he blundered by exposing himself too early.

The Professor checked her scroll – probably for the time – before turning her attention back to the class.

"I hope you enjoyed the game, but more importantly, I hope you learnt from it. Throughout the game, you would have been trying to identify the truth – particularly, whether someone was human or Beowolf. To that end, you would have made analyses such as, '_If either Weiss or Blake were a Beowolf, that would explain why both are still alive; the Beowolves can't kill the human for fear of raising suspicions on one of their own. In contrast, if both are humans, it's hard to see why they're still untouched. And yet they are, in fact, still untouched, and still alive. That shows that one of them is a Beowolf._'"

"There is a term for this – inference to the best explanation. Say we have a hypothesis _H_. If _H_ were true, that would cause consequence _C_ to be true – it would _explain_ consequence _C_. And if _H_ were false, consequence _C_ would be false – since nothing would cause consequence _C_. As it turns out, we do observe consequence _C_. What does that mean? Well, it means that _H_ is true – because if _H_ were false, _C_ would be false as well; but _C_ is true; so _H_ is true."

Jaune was having trouble following the lesson by this point – and from the frowns of confusion on every face but Weiss's, so was everyone else.

Professor Fall noticed this, and looked displeased, but changed tack nonetheless.

"Let us return to the bandit example. The hypothesis is that bandits attacked the village. If this were true, they would have raided the granary. If this were false, the granary would be untouched. Upon arrival at granary, we see that it is, in fact, raided. This shows that the bandits attacked the village – because if there had been no bandit attack, the granary wouldn't have been raided; but the granary was raided; so there was a bandit attack."

This example was far more intelligible than the previous, abstract discussion – everyone was nodding along, except Yang, who seemed a little out of it.

The satisfaction of understanding was cut short, however, for the next words out of the esteemed Professor's mouth were –

"I want everyone to read Chapters 1 and 2 of Professor Ozpin's _Introduction to Reasoning_, and to also complete the suggested reading list appended to the back of each chapter. Then, prepare a 1,500 word essay on inference and the philosophical issues surrounding it; I will circulate the exact essay question by the end of the day, and you are to submit the completed work by 12 noon this Friday. Be prepared to discuss the matter and defend your ideas next week."

Quite a few members of the class groaned; but only Ruby had the courage to protest –

"Professor Fall, couldn't we at least have the weekend to do this?"

Cinder Fall stared flatly at the girl, and then said,

"The deadline has been moved up to 12 noon this Thursday. Any other objections?"

That shut the whole class up.

"Good. Dismissed."

Jaune sighed – in relief.

"Mr Arc. Miss Belladonna. Stay behind."

Relief was short-lived indeed.

Pyrrha and Team RVLY gave him and Blake looks of sympathy as they headed off, and Pyrrha said to him, softly,

"We'll see you back in the dorms."

Jaune was left alone with Blake and the Professor, but before the silence could stretch into awkwardness, Professor Fall said,

"Please find Dr Oobleck in the staffroom. Tell him that I sent you."

Knowing better than to ask for clarification, Jaune and Blake quickly gave their acknowledgements before bidding the Professor farewell and leaving.

Without speaking, Jaune and Blake headed off to the staff room, conveniently located just north of their current position.

The silence wasn't companionable by any means, the way it would have been with Pyrrha; but it wasn't as brutally awkward as it would have been with Weiss – so Jaune was somewhat thankful.

In short order, Blake and himself found themselves at the staffroom; and after a polite inquiry with the receptionist at the entrance, they were directed to the cubicle where Dr Bartholomew Oobleck sat.

The bespectacled, green-haired man looked up from the stack of history essays he was marking, and then –

"Ah, Mr Arc and Miss Belladonna, I presume; thank you for coming at such short notice; Professor Fall might not have explained matters, so allow me to do so; Beacon, you understand, has no shortage of sporting-related extracurricular activities; our dustball team is the best in the word, and we have various clubs for wind-running, river-racing, cross-country, etcetera etcetera; but clubs dedicated to more intellectual pursuits are unfortunately in short supply, and I am seeking to remedy this."

The Professor spoke with an almost alarming rapidity, and without pausing at all in between sentences – making it impossible to get a word in edgewise, even if Jaune had been inclined to try.

"Professor Fall mentioned that she was going to host a game of Beowolf in class today; an excellent idea, and one I wish I thought of implementing myself; the game is fascinating, as I am sure you agree, and can serve to get students more interested in strategic thinking and more inclined to see the value of thought and understanding; I have a long been a fan of the game myself, and have been thinking of setting up a club dedicated to playing it and perhaps other social deduction games."

Oobleck finally stopped – or rather, paused – to take a sip of coffee, before launching yet another barrage of words at a thousand kilometers an hour.

"Upon my request, Professor Fall kindly agreed to send my students who show interest and aptitude at the game; that is why you are here, in case you are wondering; if you are amenable, we can set up such a club to meet perhaps once or twice a week; I will settle the administrative side of things, and help reserve the old gaol as a meeting point; meanwhile, you two will be responsible for finding other interested students and bringing them in as members; so, how about it?"

The Professor looked at the two of them expectantly.

Hesitantly, Blake said,

"I wouldn't mind, Professor."

Jaune, however –

"I'm sorry to disappoint, Professor, but I'll have to decline."

With a shake of his head, and a semi-apologetic smile on his face, Jaune explained,

"I would rather train in my free time, so as to improve my combat abilities."

With his aura only recently unlocked, Jaune had a beginner's level of skill at using his aura to boost his physical capabilities – a situation that could only be remedied with incessant training each day, every day.

And he _had_ to remedy this problem. Weakness was a luxury he could not afford – not when humanity lived at the precipice, and not when the class of enemies awaiting him out there so vastly dwarfed him in strength.

All in all, between training and schoolwork, Jaune didn't think he had the time or energy to commit to an extracurricular activity – no matter how fun it sounded.

Professor Oobleck peered up at Jaune through his round glasses; he was disappointed, Jaune could tell, but made no issue of it.

"That's a pity, Mr Arc; you are of course welcome to join us whenever you wish; Miss Belladonna, thank you for agreeing; for now, do ask around and find out who amongst your classmates might be interested in participating in our club."

"Yes, Professor."

After exchanging polite farewells, Oobleck returned to his marking, and Blake and Jaune took their leave.

By silent mutual agreement, they headed back to the dorms. Blake, presumably, wanted to carry out the Professor's request as soon as possible; Jaune, meanwhile, wanted to ask Pyrrha to spar.

It was a long walk back. Jaune had gotten used to the silence, when, to his surprise, Blake initiated conversation.

"Jaune."

"Yeah?"

"If it's not impolite to ask – why are you fixated on improving your combat abilities? There's nothing wrong with that, but you're probably the best in our year, behind Pyrrha. Is there much point to pushing yourself even further right now?"

It was a fair question, and Jaune didn't mind answering it – and so he did, albeit indirectly, by meeting question with question.

"Have you seen titan-class combat?"

Blake hesitated for a brief moment, but then shook her head, and said,

"Thankfully not."

"I have."

And nothing more needed to be said on that front – Blake wasn't dumb; she could read between the lines.

Jaune, meanwhile, sensed the opportunity to get to know Blake better. Even if she wasn't interested in becoming friends, a better understanding of each other would be a positive development.

"And you, Blake? What's your goal, here at Beacon?"

Blake looked at him, and then looked away – and then she said, with finality,

"To find a way of fixing the world that doesn't involve the sharp end of a sword."

Jaune raised an eyebrow, at this. And though he knew better than to say it out loud, he could not help but think to himself –

_Did you win your revolution through kind words and good intentions? Did you secure your rights through logic and moral suasion? And what stopped the anti-faunus pogroms – words and talk, or guns and bombs?_

Jaune admired Blake's distaste for violence – but he thought it hopelessly naive as well. Clearly, violence was at least sometimes justified – the only challenge was identifying when it was truly necessary, and when it wasn't; and of course, if you misjudged, you just ended up a worse monster than that which you sought to fight.

His left hand brushed the air at the location where the hilt of Crocea Mors would have been, had he been armed; as he did so, he remembered something his grandfather used to say.

_Tragedy is when expediency is mistaken for necessity._

-(=RWBY=)-


	4. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight III

The rest of the day passed in an uneventful way. Then, night fell, summons from the headmaster came, and Jaune found himself in a place he did not expect to be.

From atop Beacon Tower, he could see Vale in all its glory – a city of light and shadows, a million shining stars set against darkness in repose.

It was an awesome sight, beautiful enough to take his breath away and make him glad to be alive.

Jaune's company for that evening, however, left much to be desired.

Weiss Schnee stood next to him, looking out onto the city and steadfastly ignoring him. Never speaking a single word to him, and never even glancing his way, she had all but mastered the art of pretending he didn't exist. Jaune could have been air and dust for all she cared, and he doubted she would bat a single eyebrow on her perfect face had he vaulted onto the parapet and put himself but one step away from a steep drop to death.

Jaune considered himself a calm person of even temper, but the way Weiss had been treating him since yesterday grated, and made him feel just this side of malicious.

Thus, when a wicked barb came – unbidden – to mind, he could not help but say it.

"I suppose, Weiss, that you're so good at pretending I don't exist, because of a lifetime of practice; because this is how you treat your servants at home – like furniture, to be used when convenient and ignored when not."

That got Weiss's attention, and she turned eyes blazing with fury upon him.

"You absolute _ass_. How _dare_ you imply –"

"I hope I'm not interrupting a lover's tiff?"

The headmaster had chosen that opportune moment to open his doors and step out of his office, and to throw that unhelpful remark into the fray.

The notion that that the two of them could be together clearly disgusted Weiss, and the girl had to visibly bite down upon her retort – something doubtless contemptuous and withering, perfect for the boy she loathed but unfit for polite conversation with the headmaster of Beacon.

Jaune, meanwhile, directed his attention to Ozpin. Inclining his head, he greeted the headmaster.

"Good evening, headmaster."

"Good evening to you too, Mr Arc, and to you, Miss Schnee. Do come in."

Ozpin led Jaune and a still-seething Weiss into his spacious office, and Jaune found himself impressed and aesthetically awed for the second time that night.

The headmaster's office was like the interior of a giant clock, complete with turning gears and a large glass window in the shape of an clock face, its hands pointing half past nine.

Ozpin made his way over to his desk, which was located right in front of said window. Even as he sat down, he lifted a mug – of coffee, or so Jaune surmised from the smell – and took a long, deep draught.

Only once his craving for caffeine was sated did he turn his attention back to his students, and say,

"Do you know why I've called you here tonight?"

Jaune had a reasonably good guess; as did Weiss, who replied,

"You want something, sir."

And before she could move to elaborate, Jaune stepped in to add,

"Something that ordinary students can't offer."

His interruption drew a side-glance from Weiss, even as she finished with –

"You believe that there is something we can do for you on account of the connections and opportunities our family names offer."

It was almost impressive, the way they completed each other's sentences, though Weiss was far from pleased.

The headmaster, of course, did not fail to notice any of this. With a gently amused smile, he gestured at the chairs on the other side of his desk, and said,

"Do take a seat."

They sat, Weiss daintily and with all the perfect poise of a princess born and bred; Jaune, casually and with a relaxed air.

They weren't in trouble, at any rate, and he saw little reason to be anxious.

After they were comfortably seated, the headmaster began to explain the cause of their summons.

"You are, the both of you, shaping up to be powerful huntsmen and huntresses. You, Miss Schnee –"

He nodded at Weiss.

"– are an excellent dust mage for your age. And you, Mr Arc –"

He inclined his head towards Jaune.

"– have impressive skill at the blade. But power is not everything, and cleverness is important to have as well, as Professor Fall would have so ably demonstrated to your class this afternoon. I myself greatly prize the ability and willingness to think, and it was you two showing promise in this area that led me to admit you to Beacon despite your unusual circumstances. You, Miss Schnee –"

The headmaster looked at Weiss.

"– impressed me with your sharp and rigorous thinking when I interviewed you over the CCT; and this despite my initial scepticism that you were anything more than an heiress leveraging her connections, to reach at an opportunity you had not earned. And you, Mr Arc –"

The headmaster met Jaune's eyes.

"– defied my expectations with your knowledge and your insight when we spoke on the cliffs that night; it made me pleasantly surprised that you were far more than just a boy who knew how to swing an oversized knife. _But_ –"

That word hung in the air.

"– brains and brawn alone do not help to bend the arc of history towards justice, or to build a better world where children know naught but peace and plenty. So tell me, both of you – what else do _you_ think is necessary for us to leave to our children a better world than the one we ourselves inherited from our parents?"

Jaune and Weiss both mulled the question, and in the end, it was Weiss who arrived at a conclusion first. Chin high, and eyes bright, she gave her answer with confidence –

"Headmaster, I believe courage is the key. Nothing worthwhile is achieved without risk and danger, and a dream as grand as a better world will never be accomplished without loss. We need courage to face these hardships and tragedies head on – and to win despite the costs."

Ozpin made a non-committal noise that signalled neither approval nor disapproval; he seemed to want to wait for Jaune's answer before he explained his own view of things.

As for what Jaune himself thought –

What was the correct answer? Or rather, what was the answer that the Professor believed correct, and whose acquisition by them was the point of this lesson?

Jaune narrowed his eyes at the man sitting across the table from them.

Here was a man who had knowingly catapulted an aura-less individual off a cliff, just for the chance to acquire a promising student. Here was a man whom the likes of James Ironwood and Jacques Schnee respected, when men such as them respected nothing but ruthlessness and strength. Here was a man who had, for decades, trained child soldiers, and then sent them off to fight and die against terrible monsters.

Headmaster Ozpin was, in short, a man profoundly ruthless – a man unbound by scruples, and who thought nothing forbidden and everything permitted.

In the end, there was no answer but the truth.

"Ruthlessness, sir – I believe that's what you're getting at."

The headmaster nodded.

"Indeed, Mr Arc. Miss Schnee, your answer was not incorrect, but at the level of national policy and international security, our individual sacrifices are irrelevant, and what matters are the sacrifices that must be imposed on the people we lead, and on the enemies we face, and on the innocents caught up in a conflict that none of them helped make.

Ozpin pinned Jaune with a look.

"Your ancestor helped the First King unite Vale, and end the wars and plagues and Grimm attacks that previously raged within the country's borders. Do you think this was done without cost? The two of them, King and Hero we call them – they drowned entire armies in blood; executed any man, woman and child who dared defy the imposed quarantine; and sent boys as young as ten to fight the Grimm, even if all they did was valiantly die trying.

"And was the Unification any different? The Farmboy Conqueror put whole armies to the sword, so that the constant warfare and dozen petty kings that had plagued the continent since forever could finally be consigned to the midden of history.

"And I need not tell you how the Great War was won. The Last King of Vale strode forth, sword in one hand –"

Ozpin raised his right hand, and closed it into a fist.

" – sceptre in the other –"

Ozpin raised his left hand, his cane still gripped in it.

"– and laid waste to the armies of Mistal and Mantle, to bring the decade-long, globe-spanning, millions-murdering war to a decisive end. And ultimately, that is the only thing that makes sense – to save more lives rather than less, and to help as many as we can. The opposite, of letting more die so fewer may live... is indefensible; is irrational; and is cruelty, just disguised as sentimentality."

The headmaster let his arms fall, and he seemed almost tired when he said,

"Some might call it ruthlessness, others pragmatism, yet others utilitarianism; but it all comes down the same thing – we must weigh the greater good against the lesser evil, and choose the former over the latter."

A solemn silence greeted the end of the headmaster's extended explanation. Weiss seemed somewhat persuaded, but also greatly conflicted. That led her to say –

"Headmaster, all this is easier said than done; one might be able to be ruthless when it comes to sacrificing strangers, but if it were one's friends and families and loved ones at stake..."

She trailed off.

The headmaster nodded.

"Very true, Miss Schnee. Talk is one thing; action another. What do you think, you two? Have you the ruthlessness necessary, to save lives and do your duty?"

Jaune froze, for a heartbeat; then he felt himself baring his teeth.

What a question to ask. The headmaster had to know his history; to say such a thing regardless was inconsiderate at best and cruel at worst.

Weiss, meanwhile, looked almost pensive, as she said,

"Perhaps. One cannot know such things except when the moment of truth itself arrives."

The headmaster looked at Jaune, awaiting his answer; and in response, Jaune only closed his eyes.

In the darkness he could see the burning village, the curling smoke, the dead bodies, and the screams as familiar as family – as a thousand images and sounds assaulted him from memory.

Jaune opened his eyes again. An emotion he could not describe coursed through his veins, and he replied,

"If you want to know if I'm ruthless enough for your schemes, headmaster, don't ask me. Ask my old village. Ask my family."

The headmaster's lips quirked up, in a humourless smile, even as he said.

"One is dead. And the other thinks you deserve to be."

"Exactly."

This short exchange left Weiss perplexed, at first – and then increasingly horrified, as she read between the lines. Quietly, softly, like she almost didn't want to know, she breathed,

"Arc. What have you done?"

Jaune glanced at her, but didn't bother to grant her question an answer.

The headmaster, too, didn't care to enlighten Weiss; instead, he moved on to say,

"The past is the past; and while it is often a guide to what will happen in the future, it is not definitive. People change; views change; and nothing dulls strength of will more than regret and recriminations – especially the sort we direct upon ourselves. So tell me, Mr Arc, Miss Schnee, how will you act in a situation such as this?"

Ozpin folded his fingers together, and steepled his hands.

"You are leading a combined force of Team JWBN and Team RVLY, and are holding off continuous waves of Grimm battering a small village in north-eastern Sanus. Bullheads have arrived, and evacuations have begun, with residents boarding the bullheads at the centre of the village. However, you are running low on aura and dust, and cannot expect to hold the now-broken village gate until the evacuation is complete – what, in such dire circumstances, will you choose to do?"

Beside him, Weiss frowned, so deeply that it scrunched up her pretty face and made her look almost fierce.

She was putting intense effort into solving the problem, and Jaune didn't blame her – the question was a fantastically hard one, involving a deeply desperate scenario. There were probably no good answers, and in circumstances such as those described, not everyone was going to make it out alive.

To save as many people as possible, though – what would that take?

Jaune pushed his mind into action. He analyzed the tactical and strategic advantages conferred by the available semblances; he weighed the relative strengths and weaknesses of the various fighters; and he also considered the likely geography of the village and how it could be used to channelize the Grimm away from themselves and the civilians.

And putting that all together –

...

This was hard. This was impossible. In all the scenarios he considered, the Beacon team and the civilians they were sworn to protect always died, as the hordes of darkness were invariably too great to overcome.

It was a pity that there was no way to divert the Grimm –

_Ah_.

The solution emerged, exceptional in its effectiveness and exquisite in its inhumanity.

And Jaune knew, beyond doubt, that it was the sort of solution the headmaster would approve of.

Weiss, meanwhile, appeared to have come to a solution of her own; that much Jaune could tell from how her eyes lit up and how she snapped her fingers in excitement. Jaune was happy to hear any plan that didn't resort to the same things his did, and so listened attentively when she began sketching out and explaining her proposed strategy.

"Headmaster, I would use defence in depth, and make the Grimm fight us house to house so as to maximally delay their advance. Our more mobile combatants – Ruby Rose and Blake Belladonna – will be used as skirmishers to lure Grimm to the outer edges of the village and to relieve pressure on our primary line of defence. That line will consist of our strongest melee combatants – Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Yang Xiao-Long and Nora Valkyrie – located on the ground floor of adjacent houses; and while these combatants will fight and kill Grimm where possible, they will ultimately conduct an orderly retreat to the next row of houses so as to avoid being overwhelmed by the weight of numbers the Grimm can bring to bear. Meanwhile, I will keep to the roofs and from there rain fire on the crush of Grimm attempting to enter the houses – this maximizes the amount of damage done per remaining units of aura and dust at my disposal. And finally, Lie Ren is the heart of this strategy; he will use his semblance to shield as many of the evacuating residents for as long as possible from the senses of the Grimm, so that they do not simply choose to bypass our line of defence and race for the bullheads."

Weiss looked pleased as she completed her explanation; she seemed quite proud of what she had come up with.

And it wasn't a bad plan, per se, except –

Ozpin shook his head, and Weiss's smile froze.

"Your team would mount a valiant defence, Miss Schnee, but you would fail. The most fundamental problem with your approach is that Mr Ren would exhaust himself in under a minute were he to try and shield hundreds or thousands of people from the Grimm – and once that happens the Grimm would simply make for the desperate residents struggling to board the bullheads.

"Moreover, as your team is already running low on aura and dust, I suspect your line of defence would not hold for more than ten minutes or so even in the best of circumstances.

"Further, Miss Rose and Miss Belladonna cannot indefinitely lead the Grimm on a merry chase within the village – the sheer number of Grimm will pen them in, and force them to either head towards or by the village centre, which risks the Grimm diverting and attacking the bullheads; or they will be forced to bring the horde of Grimm to the rest of you, which would cause your line of defence to collapse as the Grimm attack your flanks and rear."

Weiss's shoulders visibly sagged.

The headmaster then turned to Jaune – who shrugged, and moved to outline his own proposed solution.

"I would commandeer a bullhead, and quickly unlock the auras of perhaps a few dozen civilians. Then, I would airdrop the civilians into the surrounding forests one by one, in a manner not unlike laying breadcrumbs – so the Grimm will take the bait and be lured away from the village. The emotions of individuals with unlocked auras, of course, shine all the brighter to the Grimm – as they say, we 'wear our hearts on our sleeves' – and between this and the absolute terror these civilians should be feeling, the Grimm will largely leave the evacuation unmolested.

"While I would of course have preferred to have done with this trained huntsmen capable of luring the Grimm away without dying, my team and RVLY will be needed to hold back the remaining Grimm that do continue assaulting the village. As with what Weiss suggested, I would use defence in depth – make the Grimm fight us house to house even while giving ground, and even as our ranged combatants rain fire on them from above. We will probably still get overrun and die regardless, but we'll last long enough to secure the evacuation.

"At the same time, skirmishers like what Weiss proposed should help to relieve the pressure somewhat by luring the Grimm to the outskirts of the village. They'll need to take a last stand there, however – as you pointed, headmaster, they can't run forever. If they escape over the walls, the Grimm will just turn back; if they attempt to circle around and lead the Grimm to the opposite side of the village from the gate, enough will peel off to attack the evacuation at the village centre; and if they bring the Grimm back to where the others are fighting, our front lines would collapse from being attacked from side and rear.

"In summary – dozens of innocents of civilians will die unjust, horrifying deaths, and our entire huntsman force would be killed, but the vast majority of civilians in their thousands would survive."

Silence reigned in the office, as Jaune completed his explanation.

The headmaster betrayed not an iota of emotion, but Weiss had a look of absolute revulsion on her face. She looked ready to tear into Jaune, but the headmaster quieted her with a hand, before himself saying,

"A fine plan, Mr Arc. But does your entire team need to die? Could you not afford to pull one or two individuals back, and save them? And if so, who gets to live, and who needs to die?"

Jaune gave a humourless chortle; Ozpin sure knew how to twist the knife, and lead an already heartless plan to its even colder – if logical – conclusion. And that conclusion, as Jaune knew, was –

"I would use Weiss and Blake as our ranged combatants on the roofs, and then charge them to retreat and act as skirmishers once it becomes clear our position is lost. If they execute this fighting retreat to the bullheads correctly, they should survive."

Jaune glanced at Weiss, who seemed both confused and displeased at being singled out for salvation when everyone else was fated to die.

"It is important that Weiss and Blake survive, not because their lives matter more in themselves – of course they don't, since all lives are equally valuable – but because of who their family are. Their dying would risk straining ties with Atlas and –"

Jaune almost said _Menagerie_, but in the nick of time remembered his promise to Blake to keep her heritage secret, and so switched to saying –"

"– other important foreign political figures, and the last thing we need is international tension or an increased risk of conflict."

By this point, Weiss could no longer hold herself back, even in the presence of the headmaster.

"And you, Arc? I suppose you get to survive as well, after everyone else has died? Safe in your bullhead, and ready to be welcomed back as a _hero_ –"

"Don't be silly, Weiss."

Jaune interrupted her, before her anger and indignation could build up too much.

"I'll be dead myself. After I airdrop all the civilians to be used as bait, I'll need to kill the bullhead pilot before he returns to the village and tells everyone what I did. It would be a catastrophe to let such a truth get out – even if the horror didn't cause a material uptick in Grimm attacks and consequent Collapses in the hinterlands, it would severely undermine trust in the Huntsman Academies, and if mistrust causes cities and towns and villages to cut communications and cooperation with us, that'll only make us less capable of reacting to Grimm attacks in the future."

And to put the final nail in the coffin –

"And what do you think will happen after I kill the pilot, Weiss? With my aura already low from earlier combat, and then having to perform the aura release ritual for so many people on top of that? I would be lucky to even be conscious. Even if I survive the bullhead crash that would inevitably occur after the pilot dies, the Grimm would dogpile me and I would never make it out of the forest alive."

That shut Weiss up.

Jaune looked away, suddenly feeling drained.

The headmaster, though –

He seemed alive, more so than at any point that night.

"Excellent work, Mr Arc. We'll make a leader out of you yet. You too, Miss Schnee – you have potential, but you must learn that sometimes there are no clever ways out, only a choice of what to save and what to sacrifice."

The headmaster turned around, inexplicably – and it took Jaune a moment to realize he was checking the time on the giant clock face that was his office window.

Turning back, Ozpin said,

"We come full circle. We began this discussion with me asking if you knew why I called you here tonight. Let me not prevaricate any longer, and instead give you a straight answer. I am seeking to groom the next generation of leaders, which you two will be, on account of your intelligence and yes, your family connections. We will not meet very frequently, or very regularly, but will do so occasionally, on nights like this when I am free."

Headmaster Ozpin stood.

"And I will teach you how to rule; so that you can guide the world away from destruction, and upwards to ever greater magnificence."

Upon hearing the headmaster's words, Weiss seemed both flattered and wary. Jaune, on the other hand, felt nothing of the former, even while experiencing a boundless amount of the latter.

Jaune didn't know how he could have missed it previously; but behind the mild demeanour and scholarly glasses...

Ozpin had the eyes of a butcher – the gaze, of a person used to examining pieces of meat, and figuring out the weight and worth of each.

And of course, to those on the chopping board, _butcher_ was just another way to spell _monster_.

Sardonically, Jaune thought –

_Which does Ozpin intend me to be, I wonder – meat, or monster?_

The headmaster inclined his head.

"Thank you for your time tonight, Mr Arc, Miss Schnee. You may take your leave, and get some rest. I will inform you by electronic mail of when our next meeting will take place."

Weiss and him stood, and bowed, and bid the headmaster a good evening and farewell, before turning and leaving.

The door to the headmaster's office had barely closed, when Jaune said –

"Weiss, we need to talk."

Weiss looked at him, and seemed about to reject the request out of hand, before sighing, and relenting.

"Fine. Make this quick, Arc."

Jaune nodded, and then suggested,

"We can speak in private on the roof."

Without waiting for explicit agreement on Weiss's end, Jaune headed to the lift lobby.

Weiss followed with comment or complaint, and they took the lift up to the top floor on this section of the Tower. From there, climbing a long flight of stairs brought them to the open area above the Beacon Tower lamp, which occupied a whole twenty levels on its own and whose light illuminated the area surrounding Beacon all the way to the mountains.

The moon was bright and full this night, and Jaune took a moment to appreciate its beauty before turning his attention to the matter at hand.

Weiss had taken a position a few meter away from him, nearer to the stairwell they came out from. Arms crossed, and hair swaying in the midnight breeze, she seemed impatient to get this over with.

Jaune decided not to waste any more time.

The meeting with Ozpin had made him realize that he had been taking the wrong approach with Weiss. She was a girl raised in an intensely political environment, just by virtue of her family and the role it played within Atlesian society. To begin building a relationship with her, therefore, he had to speak her language – transactional politics – and propose how an association between them would be of mutual benefit.

"Weiss, we've been at each other's throats for almost the entire time we've known each other, and I think this isn't productive. We can oppose each other, argue with each other, hate each other – and what would that achieve? Little, and less, and nothing at all. But together? Together, we could change the world."

Jaune brought up a hand, and grasped the air in front of him.

"Your family is the richest on the Remnant. Mine is old and storied, and even now tales of our heroism can sway hearts and win elections. If we were to work together, then with all the power we will one day have, and all the brilliance we already possess, and all the idealism and hope that our fathers have long abandoned – _we can make a difference_. We can build a better world – a world without terrorists or their victims; a world where all men and women can live life as they please, and no god-king or general-for-life or overbearing family patriarch can tell them otherwise; a world of such wealth and affluence, that those now poor will no longer have reason to envy those who have it better."

Jaune walked forward, and offered a hand to shake.

"Come, Weiss. We've had our differences, but now let us be friends. Let me be your Arc, as my ancestor was to Vale's first and greatest monarch."

Jaune gave a bright, confident smile, and waited for Weiss to take his hand.

And she would, Jaune knew. After all, he was appealing not just to his teammate's high self-esteem and doubtlessly lofty ambitions – but he had also painted a picture of a better world specifically tailored to meet Weiss's deepest and most heartfelt desires. It was no secret that she hated the White Fang –

_... a world without terrorists or their victims..._

– and between credible media speculation and her choosing to come to Beacon, Jaune could tell that Weiss had a difficult relationship with her reputedly controlling father –

_... a world where all men and women can live life as they please, and no god-king or general-for-life or overbearing family patriarch can tell them otherwise..._

– and while this was more speculative, Jaune sensed that Weiss, like many other rich individuals, felt unfairly envied and maligned for the wealth their family had successfully acquired –

_... a world of such wealth and affluence, that those now poor will no longer have reason to envy those who have it better..._

So it was a surprise, when Weiss left his hand hanging there, even while fixing him with a cold stare.

"Spare me the rhetoric, Arc. I've heard pitches like this all my life – some from boys half your age but twice as eloquent. Everyone wants to take advantage of me; did you really think I would look upon you doing the same favourably?"

_Shit._

Jaune knew then that he had totally misread Weiss – her immersion in politics hadn't made her see it as an acceptable way of building relationship; only hate it all the more.

"Weiss –"

She cut him off with a slicing motion of her hand.

"Silence. You said your piece, so now let me say mine. It's not just your wanting something from me that I take issue with; but the way you went about it was risible. You're not as subtle as you think, Arc. No one likes to be manipulated, and your efforts were the painfully obvious attempts of an absolute amateur."

_Oh no._

This were getting bad to worse. Jaune realized, far too late, that he had tried to be too clever, and had only succeeded at coming off as conniving and unscrupulous.

"Weiss –"

She silenced him once more, this time with a finger wagged in his face.

"But put aside the attempted exploitation and manipulation – even then, why would I ever agree to associate with you? A relationship requires trust, Arc, and you inspire none. All I have seen of you today has been dismal indeed. You violently humiliate people you dislike; you wield lies and deceit as easy a man might breathe; and you –"

Weiss swallowed, and seemed to have to control her distaste when she continued to say,

"– are all too fond of sacrificing innocent people just to reach your goals. I _detest_ men like you –"

She looked him in the eyes, and in those clear, blue orbs there was only loathing.

"– men who would sacrifice others in a heartbeat, but who would never lay down their own lives when others need it. I have been at the mercy of men like you _all my life_. Never again."

Jaune found himself clenching his fists.

And what angered him...

... wasn't the fact that his attempts to woo Weiss into friendship had failed; nor was it the revulsion she so clearly evinced for him; no, it was that one line she delivered, like a punch to the gut.

_... men who would sacrifice others in a heartbeat, but who would never lay down their own lives when others need it..._

"You're wrong."

His voice, low and dangerous, conveyed his thrumming anger.

"I _would_ sacrifice myself to save others. As I told you and Ozpin, I would have died to keep the dangerous secret safe, and to be the last piece of bait luring the Grimm away. _Of course_ I would – because I'm not the kind of person to ask others to make a sacrifice I myself am unwilling to make. Anything else would be contemptible cowardice, and I am _not_ a coward."

Weiss's eyes flickered with an indescribable emotion.

A beat.

And then she said, softly,

"Aren't you?"

Jaune took a sharp intake of breath, with the air hissing through his teeth. And then Weiss delivered the final blow, the knife to the heart –

"Talk is cheap, Arc, and you doth protest too much – which makes me think that even _you_ know, in your heart of hearts, that all you say is just a coward's bluster and bluff."

Weiss's words washed over him, drowned him, choked him –

– and made rage rise within him; rage which soon morphed into hate, and made him want to hurt this girl in front of him, as she had never been hurt before or since.

His heart screamed for vengeance; and his brilliant mind was all to happy to supply the ammunition.

"Weiss."

His voice was soft, almost gentle – in stark contrast to how he actually felt.

That dissonance was not missed by Weiss, and for a brief moment uncertainty and trepidation flitted across her face.

"You accuse me of cowardice, but have you looked into a mirror lately? I've seen the reports. How many hundreds of people have died to keep you safe? Your father isn't exactly subtle about announcing to the world how often the White Fang attempts to kidnap you in particular, and how many casualties SDC security inevitably incurs."

Weiss took a step back.

"How does that make sense, to sacrifice the many for the few? Or indeed, hundreds for just one spoilt brat of a girl? These men and women with their families and loved ones – are they less important than you? Is that how it is? Are lives measured in lien, so yours is worth a thousand others?"

Weiss took another step back.

"Wouldn't it have been infinitely kinder and fairer and better for you to just kill yourself, so the Fang will cease their attacks and no one else need to die for your sake? Or do you lack the courage –"

Weiss strode forward and slapped him, hard. With tears streaming down her face, and with her voice laced with anguish and hate, she spat at him –

"You are the scum of the earth, Arc. If you're the sort of hero Beacon trains, this world doesn't deserve to be saved."

She turned and left, her barely-controlled sobbing audible every step of the way.

Jaune watched her go; and when the lift doors finally closed –

He screamed, all his anger and hate and frustration shattering the silence of the night.

He knew, bone-deep, just how badly he had screwed up; how appalling he had acted; how cruel he had been.

The enormity of his mistake came crashing down, and all at once, his hate and anger abandoned him.

Lacking the energy to even stand, he let himself collapse into a sitting position on the ground.

Looking up into the night sky, he could see the shattered moon and its countless fragments – a perfect metaphor for his relationship with Weiss after what had been said that night.

It was almost beautiful – but then again, tragedies often were, in the grandeur of their misery.

Jaune Arc wanted to be a hero; but somewhere along the way, he had become but a blade forged for war – good for hurting others, and little more.

-(=RWBY=)-


	5. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight IV

The high-society soiree was every bit as opulent and extravagant as Jaune had anticipated it would be. Rich crimson carpets layered the floor and cushioned his every step; tables with caviar and other criminally expensive food lined the sides of the reception hall; and high above, a chandelier of glass and dust shimmered and sparkled like the stars at dusk.

Jaune downed his sixth glass of port, and wished – not for the first time that evening – that he was anywhere but here, standing in a stuffy suit and giving smiles as artificial and fake as the powdered makeup upon every face.

_The port, at least, is good._

The stuff was rich and sweet and heady, and though he was neither connoisseur nor expert sommelier, he could well appreciate the taste of the fortified wine as he swallowed it.

He gave the port in his glass a swirl, and watched as the dark red liquid flowed in and upon itself in a mesmerizing spiral.

Jaune was drunk, and knew it – but didn't care a whit. As far as he saw it, the alcohol helped make the evening far more bearable. With him in a pleasantly drunken stupor, every banal word said was interesting, and every ingratiating socialite was charming.

The headmaster, no doubt, would have disapproved of his inebriation – but since it was on Ozpin's account that Jaune was not in Beacon but here, choking on the stifling insincerity of high-society... well, the man could save his censure.

"_Mr Arc, Miss Schnee, I have a task for the two of you."_

_It had been a month and a half since the start of term, and Jaune and Weiss were meeting the headmaster in his office once more._

_Weiss still hated his guts, of course, after Jaune had said that which could not be taken back. And though her pride and perfectionism pushed her to hold her hate and anger in check long enough to work with him in class and combat, their dorm life was utterly brutal – just one long wintry silence interspersed with hateful looks and barbed comments._

_It was not undeserved, but that didn't make any of it easier to bear._

_The headmaster, of course, was in the dark about just how badly his prized students were getting along with each other. Oblivious, he continued to say,_

"_Upon my request, a friend and ally – Councilman Viren – will be hosting a formal reception this Saturday evening for the sons and daughters of some of Vale's most prominent politicians and lobbyists and businessmen._

"_I wish for you two to be there. Your task will be to persuade these young individuals, not so different from yourselves, of the merits of becoming huntsmen and huntresses. They are all aged between thirteen and sixteen, and it is not too late for them to learn the basic skills of a huntsman, and to eventually test into an academy. And even if they never become more than mediocre as huntsmen – and indeed, even if they do not remain in the business after graduation – they will at least have adopted a huntsman's mindset. They will view the world as we do – see the threats we see. They will place great importance on the work we perform, against the monsters the ordinary city-dweller is too fortunate to ever have to face._

"_This will matter, in the years to come, when these young individuals follow in the footsteps of their parents and become powerful politicians, or influential lobbyists, or wealthy businessmen, in their own right. With them sympathetic to our cause, the huntsman corps will be advantaged; we will perhaps obtain greater operational independence, or secure more substantial information sharing with the ever-hostile Vale Police Department, or procure increased funding and a more generous budget."_

_From his seat across the table, the headmaster looked at them soberly._

"_This is a golden opportunity. Do not squander it."_

It was the awareness that he was doing good here – contributing, to the huntsman cause – that made Jaune grin and bear the artificiality of this high-society meet-and-greet, and do his duty no matter how distasteful he found it.

A dark-haired girl in an alarmingly-short black dress smiled alluringly at Jaune, and said,

"So, Jaune, do tell us more about the heroics you do at Beacon."

Jaune smiled in return, and made the effort to engage the muscles at the sides of his eyes too – so his smile would seem real and heartfelt, rather than artificial and fake.

"Well –"

_Audrey_, his mind provided.

"– Audrey, right now we're still focusing on training, but towards the end of term we'll be going on a proper mission – perhaps hunting down some rogue bandit tribe in near-eastern Sanus, if we're lucky.

Audrey smiled back, in turn; and unlike Pyrrha, she was a real pro at this. Had he not known better, Jaune would have taken her happiness and enthusiasm to be sincere, rather than expertly faked. However, before Audrey could speak, another girl interjected –

"That sounds dangerous, Arc. How do you know you won't come back in a coffin?"

The red-haired, green-eyed Kiara was Jaune's favourite partner at banter for the evening – she pulled no punches, and her bluntness was refreshing. Of course, that itself was a deliberate conversational choice meant to lure him in; but nevertheless, Jaune gave a more genuine quirk of the lips, and replied,

"I'm pretty strong. I've seen titan-class combat in my time, and lived to tell the tale."

That prompted a gasp from the other girl by Jaune's side – Lily, with her white dress and pale-blond hair, was the innocence, and Jaune favoured her with a reassuring smile, even as she said,

"What happened? Did you get hurt?"

Jaune shook his head.

"Oh no, don't worry. Glynda Goodwitch turned up, and –"

_Cling. Cling. Cling._

The soft clinking of metal against glass caught Jaune's attention – as well as the attention of everyone present.

Upon the raised stage at the front of the reception hall, Councilman Viren was smiling and tapping a spoon against his wine glass, to draw all eyes upon him.

"Friends, ladies, gentlemen. I hope you are having a wonderful evening. Allow me to say a few short words, before you get back to ogling our esteemed guests for this evening."

Shameless titters and appreciative chuckles broke out amongst the crowd, and the lean, goateed councilman smiled at the warm reception his joke received. He then moved on to say,

"I was speaking to my good friend, Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon, just the other day – and he raised a question I found fascinating. 'Old friend', he asked me, 'do you think only heroes choose to become huntsmen and huntresses?'"

The councilman paused, and allowed everyone present to mull over that question, before continuing.

"I am, myself, a retired huntsman; I quit the corps after being injured in the course of duty almost two decades ago. And while I would love to flatter myself with an affirmative answer, and claim that it is my heroic nature, and desire to protect all humanity –"

The councilman clenched his fist in an exaggerated, mock-heroic manner.

"– that led me to become a huntsmen, that could not be any further from the truth. I made a cool, calculated decision on the basis of rational self-interest.

"I knew that being a huntsman would show me to be a person of resolve; of strength; of _character_ – and that this would benefit me in the future, when I began pursuing my political career. But even if politics had not been my chosen calling; even if I had decided to become a lawyer or a businessman, being a huntsman would have benefited me. Serving as a huntsman impresses others, and that is not an advantage to be sneezed at.

"Of course, the huntsman's life is not free from danger. But, in truth, the risk is overstated – a trained huntsman will never fall in battle against ordinary Grimm, unless overwhelmed by insurmountable numbers. Even a student from Signal can cut down Beowolves by the dozens, and this after only perhaps a year's training.

"And, at the end of the day, I understood that I had everything to gain and nothing to lose from attending a Huntsman Academy. Were I to miss out on the opportunity, it would be forever lost – for once you're past a certain age, you can no longer realistically be trained as a huntsman. On the other hand, if you find the huntsman life not to your liking – well, it's a free society, and you can always leave."

The councilman gave an amused smile that crinkled the side of his eyes.

"Naturally, such calculating, cynical motivations fell away once I actually started my huntsman training, and began seeing first-hand the importance of what a huntsman does – fighting the Grimm. But that does not change the fact that someone not interested in the heroism business will nonetheless have very good reasons, based on enlightened self-interest, to enlist in the huntsman corps. Just some food for thought, for all of you even now deciding on what to do with your lives."

Viren raised his glass of port, and declared,

"A toast! To the bright future that awaits each and every one of you!"

The councilman's speech, and his call for a toast, was met by approval from the crowd.

"Hear, hear!"

"Well said!"

"To the future!"

Jaune deftly deposited his empty wine glass on a passing waiter's tray and snagged a new, filled one – just in time to raise it along with everyone else and salute the brilliant future promised to them. Quietly, he said,

"To a future better than the past."

_The gods know, that won't be hard._

Jaune downed his seventh glass of port for that evening in a single go – and justified it to himself on the basis that it would be impolite not to do so.

And if it helped him get past this next part – all the better.

Weiss was ascending the stage. Her hair was done up in the style so favoured by the Atlesian elite – all of cascading curls, and regal ringlets, falling from a crown of braids. Her face, scar and all, was untouched by makeup; perfect, without the cosmetics lesser mortals needed to cover flaws up. But what dazzled above all else was the dress she wore – white as a winter storm, and shimmering with the light of the thousand tiny diamonds woven into its fabric, her dress was beautiful as sin and twice as expensive.

Weiss's mere presence drew everyone's focus upon her, and she had not the need to do anything as plebeian as tap a glass with a spoon to get attention.

For the first time, Jaune could understand – could _see_ – how this girl who hated him was the closest thing Atlas had to royalty.

Weiss commanded the room to silence with a glance; all the chattering ceased, and then she spoke.

"I look around, and what do I see?"

The crowd shifted uncomfortably; which was just as well, for the next words out Weiss's mouth were –

"People who have lived a life of immense wealth and comfort, but without meaning or purpose.

Her voice was quiet, almost unassuming – but her words cut to the bone.

"I have been there myself. I was you, not so very long ago. I walked through life wanting nothing, and yet also having nothing worth wanting. Life was like... rubbing the genie lamp of legend –"

Her eyes lit up, as if the analogy just came to mind, though Jaune knew better, knew how she had practised this routine a dozen times before the mirror.

"– which gave me everything I wanted and yet nothing I needed – which was meaning, and purpose. And so I began to forge my own path, away from my family. I set out to challenge myself, and earn something with my own two hands, rather than have it handed to me on a silver platter. I trained to become a huntress – to protect others, and pursue a good greater than myself. And now here I am – my own person, living a life with purpose beyond the name I was born with or the family legacy I am to inherit."

The hall was dead quiet. And Weiss, with an almost gentle voice, said,

"That can be you as well – if you have the courage to take the first step; to move beyond your comfort zones and train to become a huntsman or huntress of renown."

Weiss fell silent, signalling the end of her short speech.

From the silence came one person's enthusiastic claps; then two people's; then three's – and all of a sudden, the whole hall was applauding, and a roar of approval unlike any other swept across the place.

Weiss's experience had really spoken to them, her words plucking a chord within their souls – even if it left Jaune himself unmoved and cold. His own life was too different from the ones lived by these wealthy, privileged scions for him to empathize with them – to see as they saw, and feel as they felt.

The very location of the reception – the top of floor of the Sky Garden, one of Vale's most exclusive hotels – only helped drive home the disconnect. A wondrous spire of glass and greenery, the hotel was the epitome of luxury, and charged outrageous prices accordingly. Jaune would literally have had to sell his kidney to afford a night in one of the hotel's high-end suites; in contrast, the scions that surrounded him would have thought nothing of spending tens of thousands of lien living for weeks and months on end in a place such as this.

They came from different worlds – them from privilege and ease, him from service and hardship.

In any case, Weiss had done her part to persuade these scions; and now it was time for him to do his.

The headmaster had given them some broad suggestions on what they could do to sway their audience for tonight, but it was ultimately Weiss and himself who had decided upon and refined their own specific approaches.

Jaune had begun to realize that he wasn't as silver-tongued as he always thought – he learnt that, if nothing else, from that catastrophic conversation with Weiss upon the rooftop. For tonight, therefore, he had decided to keep it simple – using not words, but action; not logic, just emotion.

He signalled the suited attendant standing at the back of the hall with a snap of his fingers. The man bowed, and spoke into his scroll.

The panels at the back of the reception hall began sliding open –

– and panic gripped the place, as the children of the Valean elite turned around to see Grimm but meters away, in the room just adjacent to the reception hall they were in.

Trapped within an invisible cage sustained by lines of dust-infused glyphs carved into the floor, three Beowolves prowled and snarled and bared their fangs at the mass of humans before them. A sound-suppression glyph had earlier kept any noise made by the Grimm from reaching the people in the hall; but with that glyph now dismissed by Weiss, the frightful sounds from the monsters now reached the ears of the young men and women in attendance – making them flinch, and cringe, and back away.

It had been a pain to capture these Beowolves – despite his prodigious skill, and Pyrrha's powerful semblance, they had inadvertently slain dozens of Grimm in the Emerald Forest before finally managing to take these three captive without killing them. And even then, it was only with Ren's help that they could be kept passive and quiescent during their transport into the city, and up the hotel building onto this floor. Weiss course, had contributed by building the containment and sound-suppression field with her semblance – even if grudgingly, and only to avoid failing the task set them by the headmaster.

It was a whole lot of effort, by a whole lot of people, all leading up to this one moment – and Jaune was going to make it count.

In a single, smooth, liquid motion, Jaune unsheathed Crocea Mors.

"People! Lend me your ears."

His words drew the attention of his audience; but it was the naked steel that kept all eyes fixed on him, as he went on to say,

"These are Grimm – monsters drawn to negativity, and whose sole purpose is bringing death and destruction to humanity. They hold dominion over all Remnant, save for the few bits of land we cower in. They have been here long before we were alive, and they will be here long after we are dead."

Jaune gave the crowd before him a hard stare.

"Humanity is on the precipice, and yet you all stand here drinking wine and gossiping. Why? Because you think you're safe? That the high mountains will keep the monsters at bay? That the huntsmen of Vale will prevent harm coming your way? Please – that's the worst sort of naivety."

Letting his eyes narrow with undisguised contempt, Jaune swept the crowd with his gaze.

"Grimm are still occasionally set loose in cities and towns and villages, by terrorists and bandits and cultists. Grimm attack our trains and ships and aircraft. Grimm have breached the walls of Vale before, to spread death and terror through the streets. There's a decent chance you will one day come face to face with monsters such as these –"

Jaune brought his left hand up to jerk a thumb at the Grimm behind him.

"– and when that happens, you will end up killed; torn apart; turned, from a living breathing human, into a mass of blood and meat."

His words, and the visceral picture they painted, had a real effect on the crowd – a girl started crying, and a boy with a weaker stomach threw up. Jaune spared them a momentary, disdainful glance, before going on to say –

"You will die – brutally, uselessly, inevitably. Unless, of course..."

Jaune tapped his chin mock-thoughtfully.

"... you train to become a huntsman or huntress, and learn to defend yourself."

Jaune had been keeping his aura active throughout the duration of his speech, thus accelerating his healing and letting the alcohol be purged from his system. He needed his mind clear, for the next bit.

With his aura-infused blade, Jaune cut through one of Weiss's glyphs on the floor – dissipating the containment field and allowing the Grimm just a few strides away to pounce at him.

Crocea Mors swung once, twice, thrice.

The Beowolves dissolved into dark mist around him, to the relief and awe of all the young men and women present.

And Jaune delivered the three lines he had spent this whole time building towards –

"In this world full of Grimm, there are only two kinds of people – heroes, and victims. I know I would rather be the former. How about you, I wonder?"

He left the scions of Vale to think that over.

Sheathing his sword, he walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the side of the hall, where he could look out onto Vale's central business district. The sight of skyscrapers and night lights was a soothing one, and impressive in its own right, even if it did pale in comparison to the view from atop Beacon Tower.

_Danger!_

Jaune managed to get his aura up, and his sword out, right when the window shattered into a million pieces, and a girl with pink and brown hair and equally mismatched eyes tried to stab him in the face with a parasol.

On instinct, Jaune twisted to the avoid the attack, even as his right hand brought Crocea Mors arcing across –

– but Jaune was too disoriented by the falling glass, and his assailant too fast; his swing, which ought to have decapitated the girl, missed, and she skipped back to create some distance between them. She was wary now, and –

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"

A red-haired man in a bowler hat and fashionable white suit strode out upon the floor of the reception hall, holding a cane in one hand and a detonator-like object in the other.

Even if Jaune hadn't been a regular reader of the news, he would never have failed to recognize the notorious criminal whose face had been splashed all across the VNN for months on end, and whose string of daring heists had left Valean dust prices through the roof.

"Roman Torchwick."

The man grinned.

"How gratifying, to be recognized. It makes things so much easier, too."

He raised his left hand, displaying the object he held in it for all to see.

"This, dear children, is a detonator as well as a dead man's switch. My thumb, as you can see, is already firmly pressed down upon the trigger – so before anyone gets the bright idea to attack me, know that that will only cause my fingers to _slip_. And that will trigger the dust bombs under the table, and blow us all to kingdom come."

That certainly explained how Torchwick could have so confidently – so brazenly – waltzed into their midst, despite the presence of huntsmen capable of fighting him.

Speaking of huntsmen –

Weiss was stuck in a standoff with a tattooed, muscular man with an ugly face and an even uglier chainsaw, while Councilman Viren was lying unconscious on the floor with blood trickling down his face. It seemed he been brutalized by Torchwick in the initial ambush, after failing to get his aura up in time.

The enhanced awareness afforded to him by his own aura told Jaune that Torchwick and both his associates had aura as well – which left Jaune and Weiss outnumbered against three huntsman-level opponents.

Ordinarily, Jaune would not have been worried – his sparring with Pyrrha had greatly improved his aura control, and put his physical capabilities well above that of the ordinary huntsman. Even if it had been one against three, he was confident of winning.

But.

The bombs were a problem, and he could not see a way around them.

"Kiara –"

Jaune directed his words at one of the girls he had just been bantering with not so long ago.

"– could you help flip up the tablecloths, and see whether there really are bombs underneath?"

Jaune disliked having to ask a civilian to do this, but Weiss was occupied, and he didn't dare take his eyes off – let alone put his back to – his opponent, for all that she looked like a cute, harmless schoolgirl.

"O-okay."

Kiara, to her credit, did as she was told without objection or delay.

From the corner of his eyes, Jaune could see her walking to the table. Torchwick looked on, smiling; he seemed content enough to let Jaune verify the credibility of his threat.

A few tense seconds passed, until Kiara said, shakily,

"There are metal cases under the table, with wires sticking out of them. I think they're bombs."

That destroyed any remaining hope that Torchwick was merely bluffing.

"Thank you, Kiara. Please step away."

Jaune could have closed the distance with Torchwick faster than the man could react – but all the speed in the world meant nothing against a dead man's switch. And while Weiss could theoretically have tried to freeze the man's arm, detonator and all, she was being blocked off by the dangerous-looking man with a chainsaw – and in any case, there was no guarantee her ice attack would immobilize Torchwick before his fingers slipped.

Fighting was out of the question – which left talking.

Still keeping the girl with the parasol in his field of vision, Jaune looked to the infamous thief.

"What do you want, Torchwick? You can't possibly think you'll get away with attacking a councilman and the kids of the Valean elite."

The man laughed derisively.

"Oh kiddo, if you only knew. People get away with much, much worse than what I'm about to do."

He gestured to the girl with mismatched eyes.

"Neo. Please disarm the Schnee."

_They're here to kidnap Weiss._

Jaune's voice snapped out, cold and clear –

"Move and I kill you, _Neo_. This is Anra steel I'm wielding and it'll cut through your aura like a knife parts silk."

Neo looked at him warily, but Torchwick only arched one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows.

"Save us the melodramatic threats, Arc. You hurt my cute little assistant, and I release the trigger and kill everyone here. "

Jaune snorted, and was about to respond, before Weiss spoke up.

"An empty threat, Torchwick. You will be caught up in the explosion yourself."

Torchwick swivelled around to look at Weiss, and shrugged expansively as he did so.

"True, princess. But aura gives me a good chance of surviving, and I'll rather take my chances there than fight an Arc with an Anra steel sword."

Jaune couldn't help but grind his teeth – he had never thought his famous blade or his family's reputation as peerless warriors could ever be a hindrance, but here they were.

Neo, who had yet to speak a word, smirked silently at him, and started backing away – towards the stage, where Weiss was still in a standoff with the chainsaw wielder.

Things were slipping out of control, and Jaune moved quickly to say –

"What makes you think we'll let you walk out of here, Torchwick? If we let you kidnap Weiss, and make your escape – then you'll just trigger the dust bombs and blow us up, to cover your tracks. If no one knows you're behind this, you'll still just be a dust thief, and Vale won't sic a Champion on you. Do you think we're stupid?"

Torchwick gave a smug grin.

"Oh, clever, kiddo – was hoping you'll miss that. But how about this concession – I'll let any and all of you send messages to your daddies and mummies, telling them that big bad Roman Torchwick has kidnapped Weiss Schnee. With that, killing all of you annoying brats will only hurt me – no one wants Glynda Goodwitch or Qrow Branwen after their head, yeah?"

Jaune's eyes narrowed, and he strained to see the trick in Torchwick's offer – but try as he might, no ruse revealed itself. Torchwick was apparently sincere – a conclusion Weiss arrived at right at the same time. From where she stood on the stage, she asked,

"If I go with you peacefully, Torchwick, will you let these people go?"

"Weiss!"

Jaune's exclamation of dismay was ignored, however, and she looked to Roman Torchwick and awaited his reply. The man himself smirked, and said,

"Of course. I'm just a thief, interested in money and the thrill of the heist. I outwit people – I don't kill them. I don't want blood on my hands, and after we've made our escape, I'll disable the dead man's switch. And once we get your daddy to pony up a ransom fit for a king, I'll send you back home, annoyed but safe."

That was not an unreasonable offer – for a kidnapper – yet still Jaune couldn't help but doubt the wisdom of giving in to terroristic demands, no matter how much it would save lives in the immediate future.

If Weiss had such misgivings, however, she didn't show it, for she quickly agreed.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

She handled Myrtenaster over to the approaching Neo, and Jaune felt a sinking feeling. He recalled the unkind things he had said to Weiss at the start of term –

_... How many hundreds of people have died to keep you safe? ... How does that make sense, to sacrifice the many for the few? ... Wouldn't it have been infinitely kinder and fairer and better for you to just kill yourself, so the Fang will cease their attacks and no one else need to die for you sake? Or do you lack the courage – ..._

With dawning horror, Jaune realized that his poisonous words had almost certainly made Weiss feel she had to prove her own courage and selflessness. It was a motivation he understand himself – all too well – and that made him all the more horrified.

If his goading got Weiss killed, he would never forgive himself.

That finally moved him to shout across the hall at Weiss –

"Weiss, if this is about proving that you're willing to die for the sake of protecting others, stop it! I said some cruel, evil things, and you don't have to take them to heart –"

"_Shut up_, Arc!"

Weiss all but screamed in reply, and it was just then that a bullhead pulled up outside, hovering meters away from the shattered windows of the reception hall. It was so close that Jaune could see the cockpit, and the pilot inside.

Slowly, carefully, the aircraft turned, so its hull door faced the building.

Weiss threw a parting look of loathing at Jaune, even as she was shepherded towards the shattered windows by Neo.

Jaune could only watch helplessly, as Roman crossed the hall and then leapt across the gap between building and bullhead – heedless of the dizzying drop below – to land safely inside the hull of the aircraft. Weiss, and then Neo, followed, with the tattooed chainsaw wielder bringing up the rear.

The hull closed, and with a roar, the bullhead pulled up and then streaked away.

His culpability and his helplessness left Jaune gripping Crocea Mors so tightly that his hand was beginning to hurt.

He tried to persuade himself that this was for the best – that it kept the civilians safe; that Torchwick had no reason to hurt Weiss; that the life of a huntress was never danger-free, and that risking oneself for others was their duty.

And it wasn't as if Weiss didn't understand the significance of her choice. She had grown up under the shadow of the White Fang, and –

_Wait._

Thinking of the faunus terrorists made Jaune finally process what he had seen not half a minute ago, but whose significance he had failed to immediately grasp.

_The bullhead pilot was wearing a mask – a Grimm mask._

His mind made the remaining connections swiftly and mercilessly.

Torchwick was working the White Fang – which meant Weiss was now in their grasp – and with the Fang hating the Schnee more than the Grimm hated humanity –

The VNN report from a month and a half ago, detailing how the Fang had tortured and mutilated people at a Schnee mine in Atlas, floated to mind.

Terror unlike any other gripped Jaune.

He had to save her. He had to –

He never got to finish that thought, however, for in the next moment –

_! ! !_

The world exploded into flame and fire, as all the dust bombs in the hall simultaneously detonated.

Jaune was blown away, out into the night air, and he was falling, falling, falling –

The ground sped up to met him.

The light and glass of the surrounding skyscrapers passed him in a blur.

But in his thoughts, there was only her.

-(=RWBY=)-


	6. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight V

_Weiss._

Thinking of his teammate jolted him, and reminded Jaune that if he died here, he couldn't save her, or anyone else.

Concentrating, Jaune focused his aura on amplifying his durability, even as he manoeuvred himself in mid-air so that he was hurtling to the ground feet first.

Jaune landed on the balls of his feet, before transitioning into a roll that helped dissipate the momentum of his fall.

All in all, it was a much smoother – if less epic – landing compared to what he did in initiation. However, since he found himself uninjured when he broke out of his roll and sprang to his feet, Jaune wasn't complaining.

He had lost about half his aura from the explosion earlier, but that couldn't be helped. In truth, Jaune was lucky to have even survived. The realization that Weiss was in danger of being tortured and murdered by the White Fang had agitated him enough that he had activated his aura unconsciously – thus saving him when the dust bombs exploded without warning.

Glancing upwards, Jaune could see the top of the Sky Garden aflame, the fire casting a harsh white light that lit up the night.

The other attendees of reception had not been as lucky as him – without aura, none of them could have survived.

Jaune made a split-second decision, then, to prioritize getting Weiss back over aiding the evacuation and rescue effort in the hotel that would doubtlessly have already started. Councilman Viren and the scions of Vale were beyond help now, and every second he spent on fruitless search and rescue was another second closer to Weiss getting killed; and besides, Vale's emergency services existed for a reason.

Retrieving his scroll, Jaune dropped a call to the Vale Fire Department to report the incident. After that was accomplished, he went for the direct, emergency line that students were warned never to use except in truly important, life-threatening situations.

Current circumstances clearly counted – and so Jaune found himself calling Headmaster Ozpin and waiting for the man to answer.

It took about all of three seconds for the call to connect –

"Mr Arc. Is this urgent? The Goliath herd that skirts the borders of Vale have roamed unnervingly close, and while an actual assault is unlikely, my presence is needed at the walls, as insurance against the worst that could happen."

Jaune hesitated, and then decided to explain matters to the headmaster anyway.

"Headmaster, Roman Torchwick is working with the White Fang, and has just attacked the reception – kidnapping Weiss, and triggering dust bombs that killed everyone except myself. With the White Fang involved, I fear that Weiss isn't going to be held for ransom, so much as... tortured, and murdered."

That phrase was hard to think, and even harder to say – but he forced it out, so that the headmaster understood Jaune's assessment of the situation and of what was at stake.

Ozpin was silent for a long while; but when he spoke again, his voice was as cool and calm as ever –

"That is distressing news – but I have worse for you. Professor Goodwitch and the rest of Vale's Champion-level combatants are outside the city at present, and with myself occupied with border defence, none of us can assist you. Nor can I spare any of the elite huntsmen from the force I am leading – not with the Goliaths within a hundred kilometers of Vale."

Jaune had expected as much, the moment the headmaster had mentioned the titan-class Grimm.

"That's alright, sir. I don't particularly need backup – just a bullhead for transport, and a way to track Weiss."

Ozpin weighed his answer, before replying,

"The bullhead I can grant you. As for locating Miss Schnee – I can authorize Huntsman Command to track your teammate's scroll."

Huntsman Command was the organization under the headmaster that exercised command and control over Vale's huntsmen forces, especially in times of emergency – and with that responsibility came certain powers; including, controversially, the ability to penetrate the cyber-security of commercial scrolls and track their owners' geo-spatial location.

"About that, sir – I don't think it'll work. Torchwick isn't an amateur, and is surely aware that a scroll's location can be tracked. He would already have thrown Weiss's away, and if not, he'll send a man to bring it elsewhere, thus laying a false trail leading away from his true destination. Would it instead be possible for us to track Torchwick's bullhead via radar?"

The headmaster's response was near immediate.

"I take your point about Miss Schnee's scroll. However, for your suggestion – Vale's radar network will not be of much help to us, I'm afraid, for criminals know to fly their bullheads at low altitude –"

"– where the tall buildings and hilly terrain of Vale keep them out of the line of sight of our radar installations."

Jaune completed the sentence, upon realizing mid-way through the headmaster's explanation why his plan was unworkable.

"Quite so."

Jaune's mind cast about furiously for an alternative solution – all the while keenly aware that Weiss and her kidnappers were getting further and further away by the second.

"A semblance, sir? Surely we have a huntsman within Vale whose ability is sensing and tracking people based on their aura?"

The headmaster showed his experience and knowledge, when – after but a few seconds of thought – he said,

"There is indeed an individual with such an ability – he can track huntsmen so long as he has had the chance to examine their aura signature in person."

Jaune felt his hopes rise as the headmaster spoke – only for them to crash towards the end, as he realized that the semblance in question would be useless without Weiss having met its user.

_Wait._

Jaune sprinted across the street, and grasped the rapier lying bent and battered in the middle of the pavement in front of the burning hotel. Torchwick had, in an abundance of caution, seemingly chosen to chuck Weiss's weapon right out the bullhead as soon as possible. However, if Jaune was right...

"Sir, would examining a huntsman's weapon be sufficient? There'll be residual traces of a huntsman's aura in their weapon, especially after long use by a single person."

"Yes, I think it might. Do you have Miss Schnee's rapier?"

The headmaster was quick to catch on, and Jaune was ecstatic at his positive reply.

"Yes sir, I do. How do I contact this semblance user?"

"After the bullhead I have dispatched arrives at your location, make your way to The Pub and Club at 10 Sandflower Road in the industrial district. Look for its owner, a Mr Hei Xiong, better known by his alias 'Junior'. The man is a gang leader involved in organized crime, but Beacon has worked with him before, to track down certain rogue huntsmen. Explain the situation to him and tell him I sent you. While you secure his cooperation, I will issue instructions to Huntsman Command to track Miss Schnee's scroll and to examine our radar logs – just in case the kidnappers have not proven as cautious as they should be."

"I'll find this Junior, sir, and then track Weiss down."

"Mr Arc?"

The headmaster's words were deadly serious, as he delivered his warning –

"The White Fang have been utterly ruthless since Sienna Khan came into her kingdom. They will try to murder you, and if you wish to succeed you must be prepared to kill them too. When dealing with the likes of the Fang, mercy is fatal, for both you and the innocents you seek to defend – do you understand?"

Jaune's answer came swift and sure.

"I understand – you know I do."

"Very well. Good hunting, Mr Arc."

The headmaster hung up.

Jaune spent the next ten minutes planning his strategy for the night's coming conflict, until the roar of an approaching aircraft pulled him from his musings, and made him look up.

The headmaster was as good as his word, and a bullhead was descending upon his position.

With a raised hand and some hand signals, Jaune indicated to the pilot to keep his current altitude, and to open his hull door.

Jaune crouched, and then leapt up, closing the gap of five meters in a flash. His fingers gripped the bottom edge of the bullhead's door frame, and with some effort, he leveraged himself up and into the hull proper.

The door closed with a hiss, and Jaune walked over to join the pilot in the cockpit.

"We need to head to the The Pub and Club. It's at –"

"No worries, bro, I know where it is."

The pilot, a man in his early twenties not much older than Jaune, continued chattering as he steered the bullhead around and turned it in the direction of the industrial district.

"Been there before – great drinks, hot girls, wicked music. Too bad it got trashed two months ago when some crazy huntress beat up the owner and all his bouncers. Hang on tight."

The pilot soon fell silent to concentrate on flying his aircraft; and for that, Jaune was grateful – right now, he wasn't in the mood for polite conversation or inane chatter.

The shopping centres and office blocks and hotels of the commercial district passed by below in a blur, until the bullhead crossed the River Aestral and the landscape below changed – into the mass of factories and lorry parking lots and warehouses that covered the industrial district from the river to the sea.

The club wasn't too far from the river, and in short order Jaune found himself hopping down onto Sandflower Road, outside a large warehouse that looked no different from any of its neighbours beyond the large sign atop its entrance proclaiming 'THE PUB AND CLUB' in bold, red letters.

Two large bouncers guarded the door, both of them wearing identical outfits – black suit and hat, with crimson ties and sunglasses.

Ignoring the long line of people waiting to get in – despite their angry cries of protest – Jaune walked up to the bouncers and greeted them.

"Gentlemen. I'm Jaune Arc, a student from Beacon here on semi-official huntsmen business – and I need to talk to Junior."

The men glanced at each, before the one on the left spoke,

"Sure. We can bring you to the boss. Just hand over your sword and any other weapons you have"

Jaune frowned, and that act alone made the two men tense. That seemed an overreaction – but then Jaune recalled what the pilot had mentioned, about a huntress fighting the club bouncers two months ago.

As he stared down the antsy bouncers, Jaune weighed his options. He could just blow past the bouncers, but there was no profit to flouting the club's rules and antagonizing its owner, whose he help he needed. On the other hand, he definitely didn't want to give up his weapon – not with what had happened less than half an hour ago. In compromise, therefore, he offered –

"If you can get Junior, I'll be happy to talk to him here."

The men relaxed, somewhat, and the one on the left said,

"Okay. Wait here."

Jaune stood, arms crossed, as the remaining bouncer went back to checking the identities of the customers waiting in line.

The bouncer who had left to get his boss came back after a short while, alone, and said by way of explanation,

"The boss says you can come in with your weapon – just don't cause any trouble."

Jaune nodded, thankful for the consideration.

"I won't."

Jaune followed the man into the nightclub.

Strobe lights and loud music greeted him, as did the sight of a teeming mass of people swaying and gyrating with wild abandon on the backlit dance floor at the centre of the club.

The bouncer led Jaune around the side, to the long bar behind which was arrayed an impressively large collection of alcohol – from wine and whiskey, to beer and brandy, there seemed to be nothing the bar didn't have available.

Two girls – identical twins, one dressed in white and the other in red – sat by the bar, glaring at him, but he ignored them, in favour of striding up to the large, bearded man in a black vest who was standing and looking impassively out onto the dance floor.

Jaune offered his hand, which the man accepted, and they shook.

"I'm Jaune Arc. You must be Junior."

"No other. You mentioned you're here on huntsmen business?"

"Yes, representing my headmaster. Can we speak in private? It's a sensitive matter that I don't think you want your customers –"

Jaune angled his head towards the dancers on the floor.

"– to overhear."

Junior grunted, and said,

"Follow me."

The man led Jaune up the stairs at the back of the warehouse. The second floor was a quieter place altogether, insulated as it was from the noise of the club below. In layout, it seemed more of a traditional pub, with its darker ambience, wooden furniture and cozy cubicles where conversations could be had with relative privacy.

It was not here that they were going to talk business, however, as Junior continued scaling the next flight of stairs to the third and final storey of the warehouse.

This floor seemed a private area not open to the general public, if the lack of customers around was indicative – which gave a level of silence and seclusion that suited Jaune just fine.

Junior led him into a small lounge, with sofas to sit on and a low table on which drinks could be rested.

They both sat down, and Jaune wasted no time in beginning his explanation.

"A Beacon student has been kidnapped by Roman Torchwick, who's working in conjunction with the White Fang, and we would like your help in tracking the student down."

Jaune finished speaking, but Junior chose not to respond right away, instead taking out a leather case from the breast pocket of his vest, and from there withdrawing a cigar.

Only after lighting the cigar with an ornate silver lighter and giving it a few puffs did the gang leader reply –

"The White Fang's dangerous, and if they're involved I don't want to be."

Jaune suppressed a sigh. The rejection was unwelcome, but no unexpected – this was a negotiation, after all, and you didn't trade something for nothing.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this for free, now would I? The kidnapped student is Weiss Schnee, and if you help us, we will get the richest man in the world to reward you accordingly."

The word _Schnee_ made Junior's eyebrows rise, and though Junior tried to pretend he wasn't interested, he failed miserably.

"How much are we talking about, Arc?"

Jaune had done his due diligence, and had researched the prevailing ransom rates paid out to free hostages from kidnappers. Using those sums, he could estimate what would seem like a reasonable amount to pay kidnappers to secure the release of a high-value hostage – and hence, what would appear to Jacques Schnee to be a reasonable sum to pay the criminal elements whose cooperation was needed to save his daughter from the White Fang.

Knowing that Junior could make the same estimations as well, Jaune couldn't go too far from the prevailing sums – too low, and Junior would think he was being stiffed; too high, and the promise would fail to look credible at all.

And so, Jaune said –

"One hundred million Atlesian lien."

The enormous number visibly staggered Junior, who for a second seemed scarcely to breathe. Then, he recovered, and replied,

"A big promise, but can you deliver?"

Jaune shrugged.

"The headmaster will inform them of the promise, and at that point it will be in Jacques Schnee's self-interest to pony up the money – else no one will want to help a Schnee in similar circumstances ever again."

Without letting Junior have much time to offer another rejoinder, Jaune pushed forward –

"And as for the risk that the White Fang might pose to you and your business... I'm not stupid, Junior. I know why you're worried. It's not just that the Fang might attack you and your establishment – but it's that you can't rely on the Vale Police Department to provide protection. After all, what criminal enterprise wants increased scrutiny from law enforcement? Protection racketeering; drug trafficking; money laundering – and if I tried listing all your crimes we'll be here all night."

Junior continued smoking his cigar silently, neither confirming nor denying the charges – which were, in all fairness, well-substantiated by journalistic investigations, even if prosecutors had not yet built a sufficiently robust case to bring about an indictment.

Without breaking stride, Jaune pressed on –

"I heard that some huntress beat the shit out of you and your boys the month before last – and I'll bet my sword she faced no legal consequences, what with you being too afraid to file a police report.

"_You_, Junior, can't rely on the police; so here's the deal – if you ever expect trouble from the White Fang, I'll be more than happy to drop by to lend a hand, if you know what I mean."

Junior did know, and was unimpressed nevertheless.

"Big talk from a brat too young to even grow a beard."

Jaune rubbed his smooth cheeks – and, choosing not to get riled up as a callow youth might well have been – he instead grinned ruefully.

"Not complaining – shaving's a hassle, or so I hear. And while I am sure you are the expert on manly hairiness –"

Jaune raised an eyebrow at Junior's thick, black moustache and beard.

"– that is neither here nor there. I am strong – of course I am, otherwise Headmaster Ozpin would never have sent me to fight the Fang and retrieve my friend. And if you don't believe me, that can be remedied. It's up to you – will a demonstration be necessary?"

Jaune let his left hang rest on the pommel of the still-sheathed Crocea Mors.

That made Junior glanced at his sword warily, before grimacing and saying,

"No need for that stuff."

Jaune dipped his head,

"Thanks for being reasonable."

However, Junior only shook his head, and cautioned –

"I haven't agreed to anything yet."

Jaune shrugged.

"Oh, you will. Just let me make a final point. Weiss Schnee and I are being groomed by Ozpin to take the reins of command. And I'm a clever guy –"

"Too clever by half, maybe."

Junior interjected with that snide comment, but Jaune only smiled, and continued as if nothing was said.

"– with a sharp mind, as our short conversation will surely have shown. But above all, I am absolutely fearless. You don't have to take my word for it; just take a look at this –"

Jaune tossed his scroll to Junior, with the necessary page already loaded and on display.

Junior's face was a sight to behold, as a look of utmost incredulity spread across it.

"You are fucking insane, kid. I didn't think Beacon still allowed aura-less combat in its entrance exams."

"Oh, they do – you just need to ask for it."

That was, ultimately, how Jaune had managed to pass the combat portion of the Beacon entrance examinations in the first place. Without aura, Jaune was never going to have fared well in mock combat against the professor testing him – for nothing was going to make up for a lack of superhuman physical ability, and Jaune would have been turned into bloody paste the moment Peter Port's axe connected with his face.

That forced him into requesting combat without aura – a option historically made available to students who sought to bolster their applications and stand out from their peers, by proving they had the courage and resolve to fight despite the risk of death and disability and debilitating pain.

It was, for obvious reasons, an option rarely chosen – so when Jaune declared his request, it had been impressive enough that Professor Port had passed him on the spot. His famous family name helped – for it meant the old huntsman had never seriously doubted his combat ability.

Junior looked torn between admiration and aversion – the latter, presumably, because he couldn't believe anyone could be so mad to do so senseless a thing.

The big man leaned forward to return the scroll, on which Jaune's entrance examination results were still prominent displayed. With a nod, Jaune took back his scroll, and then said,

"At the risk of sounding like an edgy asshole, Junior, I will you this – I am a dangerous man. The question then, is – do you want me as an enemy, or do you want me as a friend?"

Jaune finally stopped talking, and instead waited in calm silence for Junior's answer.

In this negotiation masquerading as mere conversation, the next person to speak would lost.

Junior blinked first. Sighing, he said,

"We don't have friends in this business. But I'll take you as an ally, and help you find the Schnee."

Despite himself, Jaune let out a smile of genuine relief.

Junior wasn't done, however, for his next words were –

"Just make sure you get my money, and if the White Fang comes for me, have your sword ready. Oh yeah, and –"

He stood, and grinned unpleasantly.

"– don't think you're hot shit just because Ozpin likes you. The Branwen twins thought the world was their oyster too, and now look at him, and look at her – one an alcoholic tool, the other a mass murderer."

_The Branwens?_

One a Champion of Vale; the other the bandit-queen of Mistral and most wanted criminal in the world. The siblings made a fascinating topic of conversation, and Jaune wanted nothing more than to ask Junior what he knew of them. However, with Weiss in mortal danger and the seconds slipping away, they could not afford to be distracted by irrelevant chatter, or to delay matters any further.

Instead, he withdrew Myrtenaster from his belt, and handed it over to Junior.

"Here's Weiss Schnee's weapon. If you could use your semblance, we can start tracking down the location of its owner right away."

Silently, Junior accepted Myrtenaster with both hands. Closing his eyes, he brought the rapier close to his nose, and inhaled deeply – almost as if he were taking in the scent of its owner.

With his eyes still closed, Junior brought his head up and turned it here and there, all the while giving the air a few experimental sniffs.

Then he froze – like a predator that had caught the scent of its prey.

Finally opening his eyes, Junior asked, curtly,

"You have a bullhead?"

"Waiting just outside."

"Then let's go. The Schnee is to the south. My semblance lets me smell aura, and from what I can tell, her scent is coming in from that way, at the edge of the industrial district."

Still holding onto Weiss's rapier, Junior began striding towards the exit. Jaune followed, and with businesslike swiftness they made their way back down to the ground floor.

Junior took a moment to inform the twin girls – who were, apparently, his lieutenants – that he was helping Beacon to track down a student and would be out for a while. Then, without further ado, he and Jaune left the club, and walked out onto the street

Jaune's bullhead was still hovering overhead, awaiting his return. A few quick hand signals made the pilot bring his craft closer to the ground –

– thus allowing Jaune to leap up and board the bullhead.

Junior copied this action, but fumbled his jump, and fell short of the hull door by almost half a meter – requiring Jaune to reach out, grab the older man's arm, and pull him to safety.

Jaune then brought Junior to the cockpit, where he could continue tracking the scent of Weiss's aura and give the necessary directions to the pilot.

The bullhead flew south, over the factories and warehouses that all blended together into a grey mass after a while.

And after a short journey –

"Stop."

Junior issued his command to the pilot, who promptly slowed the bullhead to a hovering rest – right above an industrial park that appeared no different from any of the other ones they had already passed.

"We're here."

Even as he said that, Junior seemed to frown in mild confusion – and Jaune felt dismay bubble up, for he realized that things were not all going to plan.

"Problem?"

The bearded man gave a grunt and an annoyed shake of his head, before replying,

"This is the general area, but I can't tell which building the Schnee is in – which isn't right, because I'm usually able to pinpoint my target's exact location down to the meter."

Jaune found himself frowning as well, even while he asked,

"The factory they're in might have aura-absorbent walls – would that inhibit your semblance?"

Junior scowled, and said,

"Yeah it would."

This was something Jaune had experienced before – most recently, during Professor Fall's very first Introductory Reasoning class, which had been held in that old prison building whose walls had been built to absorb aura, so as to prevent the easy location-detection of specific prisoners inside.

If Torchwick had Weiss locked up in a building with similarly-constructed walls, there was no point sitting around and waiting for Junior to try and get a better read on Weiss's location – that would never happen.

Instead...

Jaune looked out the front windows of the bullhead, leaning over Junior as he did so and earning an irritated grunt from the man in the bargain.

After a brief scan of the industrial park and its factories, Jaune shook his head and gave a long, exhalation of frustration.

"Why are there so many lights on in this place, anyway? Shouldn't the factories be closed at night?"

He had been counting on almost all of them being shut, and their windows being dark – so it would be easy to tell, via the windows that _were_ lit, which factory was incongruously operational and hence likely to be housing Torchwick and his team.

Instead, perhaps a third of the factories were still up and running, which made his plan a non-starter.

Junior, who had thus far still been trying to sniff out Weiss's scent to no success, glanced at Jaune, and said,

"It's 'cause some factory machines take hours to warm up, and you aren't gonna make money unless operate 24/7."

Jaune nodded tersely, to acknowledge Junior's explanation – even as his mind continued pulling itself to bits trying to find a solution to the problem.

It was at that point that a new message appeared on his scroll.

It was from Headmaster Ozpin, and contained only two things – one word, and one link.

The word was –

_Hurry._

And for the link –

With mounting dread, Jaune clicked it –

– and almost choked on his own horror, when he saw the page it opened.

It was a livestream, showing a room – a room containing a terrified Weiss bound to a chair, and a masked White Fang member with a chainsaw just standing there.

Jaune wanted to scream, wanted to vomit, wanted to cry – this was the Fang preparing to torture Weiss, and streaming the snuff film live.

He punched the door of the cockpit, denting it.

And Jaune would have done worse, too – had he not used all his strength of will to squash the seething sea of emotions boiling through.

_Think. Think. __**Think**__._

His mind spun and whirled and sped through a thousand thoughts and a dozen propositions.

_What if – _

_No –_

_But wait –_

_Wait._

_Yes._

_Yes!_

_YES!_

The relief he felt when he stumbled upon the solution was so crushing it almost drove him to his knees.

But there was no time to waste.

His fingers blazed across his scroll, and he looked up the information he needed; simultaneously, he instructed the pilot –

"Prepare our weapon systems. And bring us _here_."

He all but shoved his scroll in the pilot's face, and pointed out the location

The face Jaune was displaying had to have been terrifying, for the pilot obeyed without question or hesitation.

Bringing the bullhead up and around, he flew them to the edge of the industrial park – right at the spot where the area's electrical substation stood.

"While making sure the cockpit window faces out towards the industrial park in its entirety, open fire on the substation."

The pilot looked ready to protest, but Jaune drew Crocea Mor, and said,

"Upon the authority of Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon, I am commanding you to open fire while holding this specific position."

The invocation of Ozpin's name – and the naked steel Jaune was wielding – together worked their magic, and the pilot complied.

He brought them around, so that from their position in the cockpit both the substation and the whole industrial park were in view.

Then, he engaged the bullhead's weapon systems.

From the belly of the aircraft, a rotary autocannon smoothly extended – and then started firing.

Spinning and spitting 30-mm dust shells at more than half a hundred rounds a second, the autocannon pulverized the substation, and caused it to explode in a scream of fire and hurricane of sparks.

Jaune, of course, paid little attention to any of that, instead staring intently out at the industrial park and the brightly-lit windows of the thirty or so factories still operational at night.

As the substation collapsed upon itself, and as electricity was no longer being fed to the surrounding factories, the whole place fell into darkness.

The room in the White Fang livestream similarly went dark – which confirmed they were in the affected area.

Jaune held his breath, and waited.

One by one, the windows of the various factories began to light up once again, as the backup generators were started, either by the industrial control systems operating automatically, or the workers doing it manually.

And then –

The room in the livestream lit up, at the exact same moment a factory in the north-east did.

"There!"

Jaune pointed out the building in question, and with the pilot quick enough on the uptake to figure out what was going on, the bullhead started flying towards the place where Weiss was being held.

All the planning and persuading and thinking Jaune had been doing since the soiree went up in flames – all that had helped lead to this singular moment; this opportunity, to save Weiss.

But now the time for talk and thought was over.

Now there was only the simple task of slaughter.

Blade in hand, Jaune Arc prepared to make some corpses, out of the monsters masquerading as faunus.

-(=RWBY=)-


	7. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight VI

The bullhead dropped him off some distance from the warehouse, so as to not risk the roar of the engines warning Torchwick and the White Fang of the impeding assault.

The moment Jaune hit the ground, he was off at a sprint. His feet pounded the road leading up to the factory, and were it not for his own aura infusing the ground and strengthening it, the asphalt-bound gravel would have long crumbled against the superhuman force Jaune's legs were exerting upon it.

Instead, with his mastery of aura showing its worth, the ground held, and allowed him to run as swift as the wind, and in no time at all he was at the door of the factory he was assaulting.

A _boom_ signalled his plan being carried out, as the bullhead under his command began strafing the factory windows on the side opposite to the entrance.

A distraction, of course – one he took full advantage of, when he burst through the front doors.

Three White Fang fighters stood before him, distracted by the noise coming from the other side of the building – a lapse of attention quickly punished when he slashed through the first man's face, spun around to split the second one's head, and then stepped forward to carve open the third from left shoulder to right hip.

As he withdrew his blade from the body of his last victim, he was confronted with the next problem – another team of masked terrorists were located a fair distance away, at the centre of the factory. Each one of them was armed with an assault rifle, and upon seeing him cut down their fellows, all three began opening fire –

Jaune dodged to the side. He could have just deflected some of the rounds and tanked the rest even while rushing the shooters, but that would have been a waste of aura – especially considering the fight he was soon going to have against Torchwick and at least two other huntsman-level opponents.

So instead, he ducked behind the conveyor belt of an assembly line, before dashing forward even while keeping his head low. As he did so, he brushed his left hand on the metal plate that covered the underside of the conveyor belt machine.

The White Fang continued firing, perhaps betting that the underside of the machine was largely hollow and that its covering plates were too flimsy to offer much protection – and they would have been right, except that Jaune was running his aura through the metal plate on his side, and reinforcing it sufficiently that it resisted the dust-propelled aura-enhanced bullets much as a shield would have.

Eventually, he reached a large, squat machine that the conveyor belt fed into. Thick and solid, there would be enough layers of metal within it that it could resist the rifle bullets even without aura reinforcement.

Jaune estimated that the terrorists had, by this point, exhausted perhaps two-thirds of the ammunition cartridges in their rifles – a third in the initial burst of fire when Jaune was at the entrance, and another third as they saturated the conveyor belt.

Temporarily letting his sword go, Jaune tore off his suit jacket, followed by the dress shirt underneath; wrapping the former around the latter, he then let it rip – throwing the whole bundle out beyond the cover of the machine, and watching it get immediately cut to shreds by a concentrated eruption of gunfire –

– which also meant they were out of ammunition. Grabbing his sword and leaping up, Jaune vaulted over the machine and threw himself at the team of terrorists.

One man got his head cleaved open by a lunging slash, the other got his face bisected by a rising backhanded cut, and with a twist of his wrist Jaune beheaded the last.

With that task done, Jaune was off once more, sprinting for the back of the factory, where the remaining aura signatures were located.

As Jaune erupted into the open space at the rear of the factory, he saw who his final opponents were – Torchwick, Neo and the tattooed man with a chainsaw, all in varying degrees of shock and dismay.

"Arc!"

Weiss, still bound to a chair, evidenced utter relief at the sight of him. She seemed unharmed as yet – and that was how she was going to stay, once Jaune was done with these fools who thought they could torture his teammate and expect to get away.

"Sit tight, Weiss. This will be over in no time at all."

Simultaneous combat against three huntsmen was, of course, no easy task – but that was what his training and technique drills were for.

_First, take out one of them with a surprise attack, so as to even the odds._

Jaune spat at the chainsaw-wielder, and the man flinched in disgust.

It was a fraction of a second during which he was distracted, unprepared, _unready_, but that was more than enough time for Jaune, who lunged forward.

The man's chainsaw came up – far too slowly – to defend against the attack, and Crocea Mors split his head open in a shower of blood and bone.

Spinning about, Jaune faced down a panicked Torchwick and a nervous Neo.

_Second, intimidate one enemy into a defensive posture while you attack the other._

Stepping forward, Jaune made as if he was about to strike at Neo with all his speed and all his strength –

– and as expected, she flinched and used her considerable agility to dance away and put some distance between them –

– except she never was his target, and when he leapt it was Torchwick he attacked.

The criminal was caught off-guard, expecting as he did for Jaune to attack Neo, get overextended, and open himself to an attack to the back.

Instead, Crocea Mors came swinging down, and when Torchwick made a desperate block with his cane, that only allowed Jaune to use his superior strength to push right through, and separate Torchwick's head into two.

To the side, Neo gave a wordless scream, and with rage and despair on her face she lunged at him.

_Third, best the last enemy in single combat, using your greater mastery of the expected timing of attacks._

Neo's anger blinded her, and in her headlong rush to avenge her comrade she left herself open, thus allowing Jaune to make an almost contemptuously easy downward cut to –

Neo shattered into a thousand pieces of glass, leaving no trace of her behind, and Jaune could only think –

_An illusion semblance!_

A quick glance around confirmed that the girl had disappeared – and since she was highly unlikely to have just upped and left, she was clearly still around, albeit invisible to the eye.

And since he could hear no noise from her – the sound of her footsteps, for example – nor could he pinpoint her exact location through her aura – even if he could still sense her general presence – Jaune could not help but conclude that Neo's semblance masked sound and scrambled aura detection too, and was far more than just a visual trick.

He was, for all intents and purposes, fighting an opponent he could not sense. The only time he could strike at her was in the moment after she attempted an attack of her own – an act which, by necessity, gave away her position.

Which meant –

The tip of a blade slammed into his back, depleting his aura and making a web of excruciating pain light up his body –

– but Jaune was prepared, and had braced himself, so the pain did nothing to slow him down as he spun around, and sliced at the air where Neo's body would have been.

The air fractured into countless glass shards, revealing Neo as was throwing herself backwards and bleeding slightly from a shallow cut on her chest.

_Almost._

Her face twisted by both pain and grief, she disappeared again as her semblance activated once more.

That was a near miss, but valuable knowledge had been gained, for Jaune now knew a crucial fact about her semblance.

_Her illusions breaks upon physical contact._

The problem now, however, was Neo knew that he was ready for her – ready, to retaliate instantaneously whenever she struck at him.

Movement in the corner of his eye made Jaune move, and he gave a short back-step, to avoid a vicious stab, even as he brought his sword arcing down on the girl who had leapt at him with no thought of defence.

The air fragmented into innumerable splinters of glass, and then Neo was stumbling back, her torso gorged open and a torrent of blood pouring forth.

She fell to the ground, and a pool of blood began spreading out from her body.

It was altogether too easy, and indeed –

_My blade met no physical resistance when I made that supposedly fatal slash._

Quickness of thought and bodily instinct combined, pushing him to twist and dodge to the side, so that the stab aimed at his heart turned into little more than a glancing blow across the back. His aura flashed, but without hesitation Jaune swung his sword around in a vicious backhand cut.

The shattering of air into glass occurred once more, and the real Neo skipped back a couple of steps with a second, deeper cut now gracing her chest. Across her face, fury warred with increasing doubt, even as she faded back into the safety of invisibility.

Jaune was right – the initial assault had been but a trick, meant to make what came next seem realistic; and the corpse was a lie, meant to lull him into dropping his guard, after which he could be stabbed through the heart.

It was an illusion within a illusion – a nested trick, and a very clever attempt at deceit.

Something moved at the edge of his vision, and from the opposite side to her last attack, Neo materialized and rushed at him.

_The same trick?_

Unable to risk this being a double-bluff – where it was the real Neo attacking even while he overconfidently believed it to be an illusion – Jaune was forced to take appropriate countermeasures.

A twist let him evade her lunging stab, even as he brought his blade down in a sweeping cut that bisected Neo – who promptly broke into a myriad of glass slivers that rained down upon both him and the ground. In the midst of that crystalline shower, another Neo appeared, this one with her face hacked in two.

Jaune stepped forward, and stamped down hard on the corpse, which – as expected – reduced to fragments of glass that soon faded away into nothingness.

Even as Jaune circled around, warily, on edge for the next attack, said attack never came; and indeed, his heightened senses told him that Neo's aura signature was receding – though still there, it was fading, almost like she was retreating.

Jaune wasn't sure what to believe – on the one hand, it was clear, from the doubt he previously saw, that she disliked her chances against him; on the other hand, the rage she displayed did not seem like it would permit her to retreat while Torchwick's murderer still lived.

The moment Torchwick died, and Neo attacked in anguished rage, Jaune was certain that only one of them would walk away alive from that fight; apparently, that was not to be.

Jaune turned to Weiss – and to his horror, found his teammate unconscious, with her stomach slit. Blood poured out, streaming down across her diamond-flecked dress, red on white, like a crimson tide blotting out the stars once bright.

"Weiss!"

Jaune found himself screaming her name even as he reached his hand out, helplessly, towards her. Stumbling forward, Jaune thought of nothing but what he could do – _futilely_, the traitorously rational part of his mind whispered – to save her. Stemming the bleeding with his bare heads; cutting off part of her dress to make a bandage; pushing his aura into her, even, on the off-chance he had a healing semblance – whatever it took, he would do.

Except –

_Her scar is over her __**right**__ eye._

Jaune moved without further thought, and –

A soft gasp escaped the girl's mouth.

– ran her through with his sword.

A manifold web of cracks lit up the very air, and the world around them shattered into a thousand pieces of glass.

Neo sat slumped upon the chair, Crocea Mors buried in her stomach up to its hilt.

The real Weiss, still bound at the hands and ankles, was lying on the floor a few meters away, and struggling to get up.

"Jaune! Thank the gods you realized – she was about to stab you, from within the illusion. How did you know that it was her, and not me?"

Jaune acknowledged Weiss with a glance, and said, softly,

"You have a scar over your left eye; in Neo's illusion, the scar was over the right. I suppose that's what happens, when you don't have much time to make a detailed illusion, and instead just reflect what you see – like a mirror, am I _right_?"

With that last word, he twisted Crocea Mors, earning a gasp of agony from Neo, before pulling out the sword, which dripped blood from point to hilt.

Neo raised her head to look at him. And even while she clutched at the wound on her stomach, it was neither anguish nor terror at impeding death that was written across her face.

No – it was hatred, pure and perfect and true; hatred for the man who had taken away everything from her.

Jaune looked down at her, and found he had neither sympathy nor mercy to offer. Grimly, he told her,

"If you didn't want to end up skewered by a sword, with all your colleagues slaughtered, perhaps don't blow up a room full of children, and then livestream to the world, a sick attempt at torture-murder. But since you didn't have the basic moral decency to avoid even that, you can do this instead – improve the world, by being dead."

"Jaune!"

Ignoring Weiss's warning cry, Jaune hefted his sword, and chopped Neo's head off.

Weiss seemed stunned into silence for a moment, before flatly saying,

"_That_ was a mistake."

Jaune headed over to free Weiss, and even as he worked at the cable ties binding her, he said,

"I don't see why. Neo needed to die, Weiss – she was dangerous, even half-dead. Remember that her aura's not broken, since I merely bypassed it using Anra steel. Had she activated her semblance, she could have fooled us into thinking she was already dead, before using the last of her strength to slit your throat and stab me in the head."

Weiss climbed to her feet, all the while rubbing at her chaffed wrists.

And instead of speaking, she walked over to the table set-up a few meters away from the chair she had been previously bound. There, she picked up the scroll held upright by a scroll stand, before fiddling with it.

That was...

... the scroll which had been recording the attempted livestream. It had been running throughout, and would have captured everything happening in the area around the chair – including his killing Neo at the end – but not the broader fight and how much of a threat Neo had been.

To the world, it would have looked like Jaune was executing a defenceless little girl – and he could understand Weiss was worried.

"I've terminated the video recording. We can speak freely now."

Weiss put the scroll back down on the table, and turned to him, frowning, before saying,

"You were justified in killing her, and there is no one on Remnant more supportive of executing White Fang scum than me – but the world will not see it that way. There'll be legal repercussions for this – you'll be the subject of an investigation, possibly an indictment, if the Valean Council capitulates to the pressure from the faunus and the bleeding-heart liberals."

The tone Weiss took made clear just what she thought of said faunus and their liberal human allies.

And as for the substance of her concern –

Confidently, Jaune said,

"The risk Neo posed, plus the circumstances – the Sky Garden bombing, and then the sick stuff they wanted to do to you – will make any politically-motivated prosecution much harder to do. And besides, I'll have powerful allies, won't I? The headmaster, who always protects his students; the traditionalists in the legislature, who love my family name and history but hate the faunus deeply; and the Schnee Dust Company too, will be on my side, I presume."

That last bit was meant as a statement, but ended up coming across more as a question – a question which Weiss eventually answered, after appearing uncertain about whether a reply was needed.

"Oh. Of course. My family will be more than happy to provide any and all support –politically, socially, financially – if you face legal trouble."

Jaune nodded.

"Thanks, that would be great."

The two of them lapsed into a somewhat uncomfortable silence after that. Their hate-filled relationship, starting from the very first day they met, couldn't just morph into a beautiful friendship overnight – though the successful defeat of Torchwick did seem to mend things somewhat, and offer the chance for a new start.

_We're on speaking terms now, at least._

Jaune eventually broke the silence, when he remembered –

"Oh yes, and another thing. Not that I thought of this in the heat of battle, but there was always the chance Neo was going to survive the initial abdominal stab. It's not likely, but people do sometimes survive such serious wounds, albeit with serious organ damage and massive scarring."

Weiss frowned, and seemed to move – unconsciously – to rub at her own scar; as she did so, she considered his words, before saying –

"They do, if their aura is intact, and being focused upon healing – as Neo would have been attempting."

"Right! And having survived, then what? Didn't Torchwick previously escape –"

"– as he was being transported to prison? Regrettably, yes."

Weiss grimaced while making that interjection, her words completing his train of thought. Her eyes narrowed with distaste, causing her scar to crinkle up as well, even while she continued by saying –

"And there I was, at the start of term, so gratified that he had been captured by Professor Goodwitch – and that the dust robberies would finally come to an end."

At that point, Jaune was starting to become aware that Weiss was acting somewhat strange. It was unlike her to be so chatty to him, or to volunteer such random information about herself. Chalking it up to her being understandably tense and restive after the kidnapping – and also to him being regrettably unfamiliar with what a non-hostile conversation with her was like – Jaune simply stood there and listened to Weiss, as she continued speaking.

"It was quite the nasty surprise to find out later that Torchwick had been freed when his prisoner convoy was attacked en route to the Tower of Tranquillity."

Despite all that had happened, and despite the seriousness of the conversation they were having, Jaune could not help but spare an ironic smile, when Weiss mentioned the official name of Vale's most infamous prison, located in the mountains on the eastern border of the city.

Tranquillity, indeed – that was one euphemism for the state of mind prisoners were put into, by the controlled number of Apathy held there for the express purpose of keeping the criminals quiescent.

"But yes, Jaune, I do see where you are going with this. Torchwick's criminal associates, especially with the White Fang's help –"

"– could similarly liberate Neo."

Jaune finished that sentence for Weiss, even while nodding at her to acknowledge the point.

Continuing, he said,

"Exactly. And alive and free, is there anyone – Raven Branwen excepted – potentially more dangerous to the Kingdoms than Neo? Can you imagine her illusions giving cover to the White Fang as they assassinate Glynda Goodwitch or any of our other Champions, right as they're in the midst of fending off a titan-class Grimm assault?"

Weiss's frown deepened at his words, and she said,

"I _can_ imagine that. Nothing is unthinkable for these monsters. And if that were to come to pass... it would be cataclysmic – the city would fall, and millions of lives would be lost with it. The mere thought of this happening... is sobering."

Jaune nodded in agreement.

"It's terrifying."

And it was on that cheery note that Jaune finally said –

"But anyway – shall we get going?"

His words broke Weiss out of her deep, solemn musing, and she looked up surprised.

"Oh. Yes, of course. But perhaps –"

She gave an awkward cough.

"– you could put a shirt on first? Is that any way to be dressed in front of a lady?"

Jaune looked down, and only then remembered that he had used both his suit jacket and shirt as bait for gunfire earlier.

Weiss being a stickler for propriety was almost endearing at this point; and as the perfect retaliatory quip came to mind, and he could not resist saying it –

"A lady? Is there one around?"

Weiss's mouth twitched, in an almost-smile.

"Touche, Arc. Now get dressed, so we can exit this hellhole."

"Your wish is my command, princess."

A cheeky smile ghosting at his lips, Jaune retraced his steps back to the assembly line. His heart felt light – lighter than it had been in a long, long time. The fact that he could joke with Weiss, and even _almost_ make her smile – that was a great relief, after a month and a half of relentless animosity.

At the area in front of the assembly line, Jaune picked up his bullet-shredded, hole-ridden shirt and threw it on, along with his similarly tattered suit jacket. Then, he grabbed an oily cloth that someone had conveniently left hanging from a nearby pipe, and used it to wipe the blood off his sword.

Sheathing his blade, he turned back to Weiss, who was waiting for him a polite distance away.

With constant glances about the empty factory, and with Neo's parasol-blade gripped tightly in hand as a temporary weapon, she appeared on edge, and ill at ease.

It was concerning enough that Jaune was moved to ask –

"Weiss, are you alright?"

His teammate glanced sharply his way, and for a moment she looked ready to snap at him; but then, she reined in her instinctive anger, and instead sighed, and said,

"I'm fine as I can be. I've just been kidnapped and almost tortured, Jaune. It takes time to get over such things."

_Ah._

Jaune felt an ass for even asking, but then Weiss offered him a weary if genuine smile.

"But thanks for asking after me. I appreciate it."

Jaune smiled weakly in return.

Then, after some hesitation, he decided to bring up the Goliath in the room. If they were to make this friendship work, he and Weiss needed to talk about the reason for their initial, bitter enmity – and for that, there no time like the present.

"Weiss."

The seriousness in his voice caught her attention, and made her stop just as she seemed ready to lead the way out of the factory.

And before his nerve could fail him, Jaune made himself say –

"That night, atop Beacon Tower, I said some terrible things to you – things that were hateful, and cruel, but above all untrue – and in saying them, I hurt you. For that, I'm sorry. No matter how poor I am at showing it, I care about you, because you're my teammate – and my friend – and I swear I'll never hurt you this way ever again."

His words – acknowledgement and apology and promise all bound together as one – came tumbling out.

Weiss was expressionless, for a moment, before a strange mix of determination and uncertainty bloomed upon her face. Looking him in the eye, she said,

"I forgive you, Jaune. And thank you, for apologizing. I know _sorry_ can be the hardest word to say, and I..."

She seemed to struggle for words, before finally saying –

"– I've said my fair share of cruel things as well, but even so you risked your life to save me from a fate worse than death. So please let me apologize too. I know I can have a temper sometimes – but I promise I won't ever lash out at you like that again."

Jaune dipped his head, gratefully. Being forgiven, and indeed, being given an apology in turn – it was a feeling beyond relief. Indeed, it felt like liberation, like release. And as a gift, it was a precious one that he would always cherish.

His emotions seeping into his voice, Jaune replied,

"I forgive you too, Weiss, though really there's nothing to forgive. Regardless, it's all water under the bridge. Let's make a new start. Friends?"

Weiss looked momentarily taken aback, but then the shadow of a smirk graced her lips.

"Friends? Why not? For the gallant act of saving her, the princess is pleased to grant the knight her favour."

Jaune laughed.

Looking up, through the factory windows, he could see the moon looming large in the sky. With its broken face hidden on the far side, tonight it was a perfect sphere, full and flawless and glowing silver.

And Jaune could not help but think, in appreciative wonder –

_To make friends of foes, and to create love from hate – is there a greater miracle a human can make?_

-(=RWBY=)-


	8. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight VII

It was a beautiful day – with the morning sun shining gently, the winter air pleasantly chilly, and the sky a bright, clear, wonderful, endless blue.

The cafe they were in, too, was quite the sight, and quite the treat – from the impossibly smooth silk tablecloths, to the soft classical music playing unobtrusively in the background, to the ornate Mistralian teapots, this was luxury and sophistication he did not expect to see in a small village stuck in the middle of nowhere, between the mountains and the sea.

And as for tea on offer – wonderfully aromatic, it was a pleasure to even smell, and seemed a waste to even drink; though drink it Jaune did, when he finally took a sip.

The hot, bitter liquid washed past his tongue and trickled down his throat, and Jaune grimaced in disappointment – the taste of it was quite ordinary, compared to the aroma it flaunted.

He said as much to his companion, who sniffed,

"Try and show some sophistication, Arc. This is silvermoon tea, made from unwilted evergreen tea leaves as infused with vanilla and berries. It is one of the great aesthetic achievements of Mistralian high culture, and – are even you listening to me?"

Jaune was busy sniffing mournfully at his cup of tea, and its misleadingly tantalizing scent, but at Weiss's annoyed huff, turned to her and replied, mildly,

"I've never had refined tastes, or much knowledge of art and culture, to be honest."

Weiss looked pleased that he could admit as much, and she said,

"That's something we can work on. Even if you find it tiresome, you have to show yourself to be cultured if you ever want to travel within elite circles and make others take you seriously."

Jaune was about to tell Weiss that such a thing wasn't particularly high on his list of priorities – but then, a wicked idea came to mind, and he said,

"Perhaps you can suggest some good music for me to get into, then. All I listen to right now is trashy pop stuff –"

Unable to help himself, a smirk curled his lips.

"– like Weiss Schnee's songs."

"_Jaune Arc!_"

She pointed her fork – lately used to eat a scone – threateningly at his face, but it was hard to be menacing when there were bits of cream and strawberry jam hanging off both one's mouth and weapon of choice.

It really was too much fun teasing her. Laughing, Jaune waved her down,

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. It's just a joke – don't stab me."

"Hmmph."

Somewhat mollified, Weiss went back to eating her scone, even while Jaune's attention wandered over to the street in front of the cafe.

He had been getting along much better with Weiss, ever since the kidnapping and their subsequent reconciliation.

At the same time, however, he had been getting heat from everywhere else. As Weiss had warned, his summary execution of Neo on the livestream had brought public censure and calls for his prosecution. And while the latter hadn't yet happened – and would probably never happen – the former was a tiresome and all too familiar thing to experience.

When the end of semester training missions had rolled around, it was almost a relief – a chance, to get away from the withering distaste of the Valean citizenry, and the wary looks of his fellow students.

_His team was gathered in their room; each person had their scroll out, and was in the midst of examining the missions on offer._

_They needed to discuss the matter and decide upon which mission to take, but Jaune was scanning the list with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Most of the missions were boring, unimportant ones that posed a distinct lack of challenge to either himself or his team. Thinning out the Grimm in low-risk areas around settlements, or guarding convoys facing little to not threat of attack – these were what were available, and Jaune was distinctly unimpressed._

_Weiss, in contrast, seemed quite enthused, as she declared,_

"_We should take the search and destroy mission in Rothenburg! It'll be a wonderful place to visit – the village is a place out of a medieval fairytale, with its half-timbered houses and cobblestone streets."_

_Blake looked up from her scroll, and frowned._

"_This isn't a vacation, Schnee. Lives are at stake, and you need to take this seriously."_

_Three months had made Jaune an expert at sensing imminent arguments, and had also taught him that the best way to avoid them was to interject himself into the conversation immediately, and thereafter offer up another topic of discussion as a distraction._

"_The most important thing –"_

_Jaune spoke loudly and clearly, drawing everyone's attention to himself._

"– _is choosing a mission commensurate to our skills, or we're not going to learn anything."_

_Pyrrha, his partner in crime at keeping the peace between Weiss and Blake, looked thoughtful, before tentatively suggesting –_

"_This isn't official, but I've heard on the grapevine that Professor Fall will be heading the mission to Rothenburg."_

_That bit of gossip gave Jaune pause; and after a moment's consideration, he started searching the internet for –_

"_Aha."_

_His exclamation interrupted Pyrrha as she was still voicing her opinion on a possible mission to Rothenburg. As modest and polite as ever, she stopped, and let him speak ahead of her._

"_Sorry Pyrrha. I just wanted to say – there have been increased sightings of elder Grimm in the mountains far to the west of Rothenburg. I suspect Professor Fall will leave her team of students to the easy task of killing the low-level Grimm that wander near the village, while she ranges deep into the wilderness – and hunts any elder Grimm that's coming too close for comfort. Of course, the students have to be competent, so the Professor can concentrate on her job, rather than have to stay around the village holding their hands. Which __**means**__ –"_

_Jaune snapped his fingers in emphasis._

"– _we can have our cake and eat it. The Rothenburg mission can be everything to everyone – a vacation; a way to do our part in keeping the Kingdom safe; and perhaps even a chance to learn from seeing the best of the best in action."_

_Weiss seemed satisfied, as did Blake, and so Pyrrha gave the conclusion on everyone's mind, smiling as she did –_

"_Rothenburg it is!"_

Jaune took another sip of his tea.

Looking down his cup, he figured that however disappointing the tea had been, the same couldn't be said of their choice of taking the Rothenburg mission. Having come to a rotating arrangement where half of team would be off Grimm hunting, while the other half stayed in the village in case it came under attack, that left plenty of time to take in the sights and enjoy the place.

Pyrrha hadn't been happy about the way the team had been split – she thought it more natural for keep partners together. In the end, however, Jaune had prevailed upon her, and persuaded her of the wisdom of keeping their two strongest fighters – herself and him – on separate squads. This was just in case things blew up, and a two-person squad was forced to fight off a tide of Grimm without the rest of the team.

Weiss had chosen him, and Blake didn't have a preference – which led to Jaune spending this fine morning sipping tea and breaking bread with the Schnee heiress, even as Blake and Pyrrha were out killing Grimm in the surrounding areas. Professor Fall, meanwhile, had headed west towards the mountains, to hunt down elder Grimm beyond the abilities of normal huntsmen to fight.

Idly, Jaune fingered the pommel of Crocea Mors. His sword was still sheathed, but he had taken it out of his belt harness and propped it up by his chair, so as to allow him to sit more comfortably.

Even as they were enjoying themselves, he and Weiss needed their weapons close to hand, in case things went south and Grimm attacked the village. Thankfully, such an eventuality was unlikely, and for the time being, Jaune was more than happy to kick back and relax.

Lathering jam and cream on his own scone, he took a bite, and found the taste of it divine.

He proceeded to wolf it down, even while listening to Weiss give a spirited, crash course on the fine arts and high culture.

In short order, their plates were clean, their cups empty, and Jaune's mind full to bursting on facts of art history that were practically useless but also surprisingly interesting.

"Shall we?"

Weiss directed that question at him, even as she dabbed her lips daintily with a napkin. In reply, Jaune said,

"Sure."

Retrieving their weapons and standing up, they took their leave; and at a sedate pace, they made their way over to the market district.

Rothenburg was a large village, with perhaps ten thousand inhabitants. A fair proportion of the villagers were farmers, with the land they worked located outside the walls of the village proper. It was, of course, a risk to be beyond the walls – but that was how these people put food on the table, and with the local huntsmen regularly killing Grimm that wandered too near the village and its adjacent farmland, it wasn't as if one would be eaten by a Beowolf the moment one stepped outside the gates.

As he and Weiss walked to their destination, making small talk on the way, they also got to admire the village in all its charming quaintness. Weiss had been right when she said that it was like a place out of a fairytale. With its winding, cobbled roads and wooden houses painted in colours of a thousand shades, the village felt half a fantasy, and half a journey back five centuries.

There were a fair bit of people around, and, noting their mannerisms and clothing, Jaune commented,

"There seem to be a lot of tourists in Rothenburg."

Weiss glanced at a passing couple, before responding,

"Of course. Rothenburg isn't just a farming village; its well-preserved medieval aesthetic makes it a popular destination for tourists. In fact, the local economy relies mainly on tourist lien nowadays."

That much Jaune could believe, as he and Weiss turned a final corner and came upon the farmers' market.

There were certainly a lot of farmers, all of whom were manning their various stalls and selling fresh fruits and vegetables of all kinds. However, there were even more stands and booths selling street food and trinkets – and around such stalls, tourists congregated, enjoying greasy sausages and admiring their newly-bought baubles.

Weiss was thrilled; Jaune decidedly less so. Eyeing the crowd with some trepidation, he followed Weiss as she pushed her way into the mass of people.

They visited each stall in turn, and to Jaune's increasing amusement, Weiss kept betraying her sheltered upbringing, by repeatedly expressing surprise and enthusiasm at the relatively mundane things on sale – like common festival foods or snow globes of various designs.

The snow globes in particular fascinated Weiss, who chose to stop at a stall selling them. Picking one up, she gave it a shake, and as the snow-like particles within the glass began floating down, she looked inordinately pleased.

"You know –"

Jaune had to speak up, heard over the buzz of the crowd.

"– that those are for children, right?"

Weiss gave him an annoyed glance.

"Oh shush, you. This is _anthropological research_ I'm doing."

Jaune had to laugh at that. And as a stall on the opposite side of the street caught his eye, he told Weiss,

"I'm off to take a look at some other stalls. Meet up by the entrance in –"

He was about to say _fifteen minutes_, but with how much Weiss seemed to like the place, he instead went for –

"– half an hour?"

Weiss nodded, distractedly, and so with parting wave, Jaune started crossing the street.

The stall in question was run by an old man, and as for the items it sold – rows upon rows of books covered the table, each one with a gorgeously illustrated cover.

And upon closer inspection, Jaune could see that all the books present were transcriptions of popular folklore and fairytales.

There, at the top left corner of the table, was _The Tale of Two Brothers_, its cover a magnificent maelstrom of golden radiance and violet darkness warring against each other, even while coming together, to create greater unity, and an exalted harmony.

And there, at the far right-hand side of the table, was _The Story of the Seasons_, its cover showing the four sisters of legend – cheerful Spring resplendent in viridian; ardent Summer glorious in gold; melancholic Autumn striking in scarlet; and serene Winter breathtaking in the white of snow.

And at the front of the table, right before Jaune himself, was _Jeanne d'Arc_, its cover displaying the woman for whom he was named, a halo of fire framing her head, and flames of red and gold raging all around her, threatening to immolate all those who opposed her dream of a better world.

That last book Jaune touched, gently; under his fingers, the lacquer was smooth and cool.

Jaune didn't need this, or any of the other books – he enjoyed reading, but not about fairytales. And money was tight, too, with his Beacon stipend not amounting to much.

And yet –

_It's so beautiful._

On impulse, he made his decision.

"I'll take this – as well as _The Tale of Two Brothers_, and _The Story of the Seasons_."

The old man grinned, showing a gap in his teeth, and replied,

"Them books will cost you a pretty penny, boyo. A 'undred and fifty lien, for the lot 'o them."

The steep price made Jaune wince, but he forked out the money all the same. From his wallet he counted out a trio of fifty lien cards – almost all the money he had brought on this trip – and handed them over to the stall owner.

"Here you go."

"Good doing business with ya, son."

The old man helped wrap the books up in paper, before putting them into a plastic bag and handing that over.

"Thanks."

Still finding it hard to believe he had blown a hundred and fifty lien on a whim – but not regretting his choice in the least – Jaune proceeded to check out the rest of the market.

Nothing else piqued his interest, which was for the best – he couldn't afford to spend on anything else, not if he wanted some cash available for emergencies.

He ended up wandering out of the market long before half an hour was up, and so spent the remaining time browsing his scroll while he waited for Weiss.

When his teammate finally emerged from the market, struggling with the bulk of a dozen or so shopping bags, Jaune yielded to a chuckle.

And as Weiss approached, he asked,

"How can one person need so much stuff?"

In lieu of responding, Weiss thrust out half the bags to him; and with a sigh, Jaune acquiesced.

"Fine."

He took his share of the burden, even as Weiss rewarded him with a bright smile.

"Thank you, Jaune. Very gentlemanly of you."

Snorting, Jaune replied,

"Very rational of me, you mean – spares me the dirty looks that people on the street will give, when they see a girl carrying all this and the guy next to her not helping."

"Precisely."

"Come on, let's get going, before I decide to drop all this stuff into the dirt."

They started the short walk to their next destination, chatting as they went.

They were headed for the old Saint Galant church, located at the heart of the village. And while far from religious, Jaune had to admit, upon arriving, that the church was quite the impressive sight – from the two towers reaching into the heavens, to the body of the building spanning the sheer length of the street, to the flying buttresses that spoke of a style and architecture of a time long past.

At the entrance, he and Weiss were met by a friendly older lady, who smiled, and greeted them,

"Are you here for the choir performance, dearies?"

Weiss nodded,

"We are. I hope we're not too late?"

"Oh no, you're right on time – it's almost eleven, and the performance is about to begin. You and your boyfriend can go right in."

Jaune hid a snicker, while Weiss showed great control in not immediately devolving into an affronted, spluttering mess.

As they made their way into the church, his teammate had her eyes fixed straight ahead, even while she forced, out of the corner of her mouth –

"Not a word, Arc."

Incapable of passing up this opportunity for ribbing, Jaune replied,

"That's not a very tender thing to say to one's beloved, unless you –"

A not-so-gentle elbow to his side made him stop, and at the same time, Jaune found his attention wandering away towards the church itself.

The interior of the building was just as impressive as its exterior, with the intricately-patterned stained glass windows and tall white walls all reaching up to a high ceiling of vaulting arches.

The pews of the church were only marginally filled – and by other tourists, unsurprisingly – which meant he and Weiss had their pick of seats. Weiss led them all the way to the front of the church, before choosing an empty pew where they could sit.

As they made themselves comfortable, Jaune noted that the church choir was already in position – arrayed, in the area behind the altar table itself.

Keeping his voice low – on account of both the locale and what he was about to say – Jaune leaned towards Weiss, and said,

"You can tell that no one here really cares about religion anymore, if their church is being used as a tourist attraction. And to think, just a few hundred years ago, these guys were killing each other for not worshipping the God of Light in precisely the right way, until Vale conquered the continent and quelled the fighting under our boot."

Weiss's mouth quirked up, which told Jaune she was amused – but trying not to show it. Softly, she replied,

"People get less religious when society gets richer. Who needs the gods for comfort, when all your material desires are met and life is free of pain and hurt?"

Jaune gave a glance around, at the shopping bags around their feet. And with a slight smile, he replied,

"That must make the Schnees the most godless people on Remnant."

He was about to say more, but then an old man in fine robes strode out before the altar, and spoke,

"Thank you all for gathering here today, in this, our church of Saint Galant. The choir will now perform Mirehart's Requiem."

A light smattering of applause greeted this announcement, and then the old man crossed over to stand in front of the choir.

From his robes he withdrew a conductors baton, and with a swish, made the great organ at the back of the church come to life, the choir begin to sing, and the music start to flow.

Jaune closed his eyes, and let the melody wash over him.

The music built from one moment to the next – moved, like a living thing. Low and slow and sad one moment, like the gentle rocking of waves, then fast-paced and erratic the next, like a river after the rains. Sometimes, it was a single, lonely voice, a solitary grain of sand swept away by the wind, and other times, it was the whole world echoing one note, the earth itself shaking. And at the climax of the piece, the music swelled and crested, into an epic, grandiose song of a wrathful god, promising the judgement of heaven, and a sky into fire turned.

So when the music finally came to an end, it was with regret, and reluctance, that Jaune opened his eyes. Seeing Weiss and the other members of the audience get off their seats, he joined them, to render to the choir a standing ovation.

As the thunderous applause died away, and as people began filtering out of the pews, and out of the church, Jaune moved to check his scroll.

Much to his surprise, he found that half an hour had passed – just like that.

His surprise must have shown on his face. for Weiss smiled, and said,

"Good music can do that – make you lose track of time, and forget all your worries."

Slipping his scroll back into his jeans, Jaune gave a faint smile in return.

"And now we're back to the real world, I'm afraid. Shall we drop our stuff off at the inn and then head to the front gate? We don't want to keep Pyrrha and Blake waiting."

Weiss nodded her agreement.

They left the church, and headed towards their inn – a charming, timber-framed building six storeys high and with a steep sloping roof.

There, they dropped off their shopping bags in the room they shared, before making a beeline for the village's front gate.

The village itself was built on a plateau overlooking the nearby river, which together with its walls made it highly defensible. The gate located on the southern side of the village was the primary way in and out of the place, and it was there that he and Weiss needed to meet Pyrrha and Blake by midday.

They arrived fairly early, and spent the extra time running through their plan of action for the afternoon.

When a smiling Pyrrha Nikos and a tired Blake Belladonna finally appeared, Jaune greeted them with a wave.

"How was it?"

"Not bad, Jaune! We found and eliminated a fair number of Grimm in the area west of the village."

"It was tiring."

Pyrrha and Blake gave their own characteristic replies – positive for the former, pessimistic for the latter.

Blake had been particularly gloomy of late – which was to be expected, Jaune supposed. She couldn't have been happy at just how extreme the White Fang had become, nor could she have failed to be upset at the predictable anti-faunus backlash that had ensued.

On Jaune's part, he could do nothing but give her space – things were far too fraught, and his role in them too complicated, for anything good to come of him trying to talk to her about recent events.

"Well, we're off then. See you guys in four hours or so."

Jaune raised his hand in farewell, which Pyrrha reciprocated. Blake spared a nod – though only for him. With no love lost between her and Weiss, those two only traded glances – before he and Weiss were heading out the gate, and into the surrounding farmland.

They headed south-west, coming across some farmers working the land as they did so.

The fact that there was anyone farming in the winter intrigued him, and he said to Weiss,

"I'm surprised they're working in the winter – what can they even plant?"

Weiss, ever happy to show off her knowledge, promptly replied,

"Winter wheat. They're hardy strains that can survive the winter, allowing farmers to plant them in the autumn and harvest them in spring."

Jaune nodded – that was an interesting fact to know. Idly, he replied

"I'm surprised a Schnee knows so much about agriculture, given that it's mining and manufacturing that's the family business."

Weiss raised an eyebrow.

"How can one hope to run the world one day, without knowing every facet of it?"

That replied prompted Jaune to grin, and quip –

"Says the girl that didn't know that snow globes existed, until like a few hours ago."

Weiss sniffed, and didn't deign to answer.

It was about then that they walked past one of the farmers working his field. Even though friendliness to strangers didn't come naturally to him – the way it did for Nora and Ruby – Jaune made the effort, and waved.

All of this, of course, was part of a huntsman's job – by being warm and pleasant, one made the people cheerful, and helped keep at bay the sorts of negative emotions that could draw the Grimm in.

He did the same as they passed the other farmers. All of them waved back, and even shouted encouragement – something which lifted his spirits, even as he and Weiss ranged south-west at a fast pace.

As farmland gave way to grassy fields and then to woodland, Jaune sharpened his aura sense to the limit, feeling for any clusters of dark power that would indicate the presence of Grimm. Relying purely on sight and sound wasn't good enough – the trees here were sufficiently thick, that they couldn't see or hear that far away.

Something tickled, at the edges of his senses.

Quietly – and painfully aware of how loud his voice seemed in the otherwise silent forest – Jaune said to Weiss,

"There are Grimm in this direction. Prepare for battle."

Without speaking, Weiss nodded.

They quickened their pace, and headed further into the forest, until –

"Incoming."

A pack of Beowolves, led by an Alpha, came charging through the trees.

Weiss swept Myrtenaster out, and in an instant the temperature around them dropped to freezing, as a protective wall of ice shimmered into existence.

Shaped like a broken circle, with but a single entrance, the ice helped prevent the Beowolves from surrounding and dog-piling them – something to be avoided at all costs, for even the strongest huntsmen could die if they lost their footing and were buried until a half dozen ravenous Grimm, whose claws and teeth would shred their aura from full to nothing after mere seconds passing.

Instead, with the ice wall in place, the Beowolves were channelized into a narrow entryway, and forced to fight Jaune one-on-one.

Crocea Mors split the head of the first Beowolf that dared enter, even while Weiss jumped to the top of the wall and began conjuring fire to rain upon the Grimm below.

A pair of Beowolves simultaneously tried rushing into the circle of ice, only to get stuck – a feat of stupidity Jaune rewarded with two quick slashes and a swift death for each.

The sound of scratching alerted him to the fact that some of the Beowolves were attempting to scale the wall of ice.

Trusting Weiss to do her part, Jaune focused on his own fight.

Showing their nature as mindless monsters, the Beowolves doubled down on their deceased pack mates' demonstrably hopeless strategy – by lunging towards him, three at a time.

A glow of violet light from above alerted Jaune to Weiss's use of gravity dust, even as howling and a series of thumps told him that his teammate had successfully thwarted the other Beowolves' attempt to climb the ice.

As for the trio still in front of him – Crocea Mors arced _thus_, and bashed _there_, and cut _so_.

With three sure, swift strikes, Jaune turned the monsters into mist – just as he heard the roar of fire outside, Weiss having summoned a great sweeping wave of fire to scorch the remaining Beowolves into nothingness.

"Only the Alpha is left!"

Weiss called out to him, and Jaune replied,

"Got it! I'm coming out."

Jaune exited the broken circle of ice, at the same time Weiss hopped down from atop the wall, onto the ground.

"Let me, Jaune."

Weiss's request came as a surprise, but he quickly acquiesced, by stepping to the side.

It was, in a sense, an unnecessary risk, inasmuch as he was by far the stronger fighter, who could take the Grimm down without much danger to himself.

However, taking a broader perspective, Weiss's desire to test herself was not just understandable, but optimal.

Aura bloomed in the heat of battle, and it was only through actual combat where the stakes were life or death, that one could truly push past one's limits, and grow stronger than one previously believed possible.

It was a reality Jaune had recently had to face up to. His own outrageous talent, and all the aura textbooks he had read in preparation, had allowed him to enhance his physical capabilities immediately after he had unlocked his aura, and made him no weaker than the average huntsmen right off the bat. And then, his training with Pyrrha had helped take him to the next level – so much so that he could fight and beat even an elite-level combatant like Neo. Ever since then, however, he had plateaued, and had felt no discernible improvement in ability.

Thus, to transcend his limits, he had to fight some powerful opponents indeed – some rogue Champion, or even a titan-class Grimm.

An Alpha Beowolf was multiple tiers below such men, and such monsters, in strength – and would in no way help him to improve.

And so, he was more than happy to let Weiss have a go.

Still keeping his sword in hand – just in case he needed to step in – Jaune watched as his teammate squared up against the Alpha Beowolf.

A twist of her wrist, accompanied by the ominous clicking of Myrtenaster's revolving dust chamber, summoned into existence a hard-light blade surrounding her rapier's own steel edge. Absurdly large, and absurdly sharp, the blade of light glowed hot and bright, and seemed ready to sever both heads and limbs alike.

With her eyes narrowed in concentration, and with her hands shaking with the effort of keeping all that energy projected yet contained, Weiss leapt forward.

The Alpha Beowolf roared, and thrust its wicked claws forward to meet the incandescent blade head on –

– only to get bisected into two, as was to be expected when flesh met fire.

As the corpse of the monster evaporated, Weiss let the blade of light fade as well.

Having never seen such a type of hard-light dust sorcery before, Jaune commented –

"Interesting."

And in response, Weiss only shook her head.

"This technique is still critically flawed. It takes too much of my concentration to maintain the blade, leaving me unable to use my glyphs. Against a faster opponent, I would be left vulnerable to evasion and a counter-attack."

Jaune nodded in agreement.

"True. Well, practice makes perfect, I suppose. And when you do get it right, it'll be quite the trump card. Am I correct to think that you can adjust the density and temperature of the blade, so that one moment it can block solid objects, and the next it'll just burn right through?"

Weiss inclined her head.

"Yes, allowing opponents to be taken off guard. If I defend against the strike of their weapon with the solid form of the blade, they will expect to be able to do the same when it is I who am on the offense –"

"– except that you'll then switch the blade into its plasma form, and cut right through both defending weapon and unfortunate opponent. Very clever."

Weiss accepted the praise with a modest dip of the head.

"Well, then –"

Jaune glanced around even as he spoke.

"– shall we continue the hunt?"

The next few hours were much of the same – swords and dust and tactics, brought to bear against the Grimm.

They did this until the latter half of the afternoon, at which point Jaune decided to call a halt.

Somewhat spent, but satisfied with their success, they begun making their way back to the village.

Retracing their steps was a relatively straightforward matter, with the inertial navigation systems built into their scrolls telling them their exact location on the map, and how to get back.

It was around four by the time they arrived back at the village. After Jaune sent a message to Pyrrha to let her and Blake know that they had returned safely, he and Weiss made for the inn, where they could change out of their sweaty, combat outfits and have a shower.

The street their inn was on was itself a busy thoroughfare, and the crowds of tourists there were no less thick at this time, than during earlier in the day.

The inn itself, meanwhile, was much less packed with people; the lobby was empty, save for the squat, kindly old matron who owned the place.

Jaune and Weiss greeted her politely, before taking the wooden staircase to the left of the entrance, and making their way up to the fourth floor, where their two-person room was located.

Pyrrha's and Blake's room was right opposite theirs, but his partner and Weiss's weren't in right now – as Pyrrha had just texted, they were out, exploring the village.

A use of their room key – a rather archaic instrument in the digital age – let Jaune open the door to their room, after which he immediately began stripping off his armour.

"Weiss, do you want to use the bathroom first? I've fine with waiting."

Weiss, in the midst of taking off her heavy, double-breasted pea coat, nodded her appreciation.

"Thank you, Jaune. I won't be too long."

She then proceeded to grab an unseemly number of bottles of soap and shampoo and conditions, before slipping into the bathroom.

Whilst waiting for his turn, Jaune cleaned off his armour, and honed the edge of his sword with the aid of a whetstone.

The latter was a soothing, relaxing exercise, which kept him busy until Weiss – her hair wet, and her body covered with a dressing gown – came out of the bathroom.

He tried not to let his eyes wander, lest he get a earful, and instead grabbed his toiletries and casual clothes.

"I'll be done soon, and we can have dinner."

After a quick but pleasantly hot shower, Jaune changed into a fresh pair of shirt and pants, before exiting the bathroom.

Throwing his dirty clothing into the laundry basket, he asked Weiss,

"Dinner?"

"Certainly."

Having not eaten lunch – or anything at all, since early morning – they were both hungry, and an early dinner was in order.

They headed down to the second floor of the inn, where the dining room was located.

Weiss liked the look of a particular table tucked cozily in the corner, and so they picked their way through the mass of other tables and chairs, to get there.

The inn's dining room was also a restaurant open to the general public, and Jaune could see a number of other guests and patrons about.

One individual stood out in particular – a hulking man with arms as thick as trees, and whose height would have near overtopped the ceiling had he been standing. He seemed familiar, though Jaune couldn't put a name to the face.

Meanwhile, some of the other guests had no trouble recognizing Jaune himself. They startled when they saw him, with their initial surprise slowly melting into disdain; likely tourists from Vale themselves, they clearly recognized him.

Jaune ignored them, in favour of checking out the menu. After all, it wasn't as if he hadn't been experiencing his fair share of stares and hostile whispers all throughout the day.

Eventually, the waitress came over to take their order, and with both room and board being paid for by Beacon, there was no reason to be particularly thrifty. Deciding to try out the local Eibrer cuisine, both Jaune and Weiss ordered accordingly – him getting the very traditional dish of veal sausage and fermented cabbage, and her choosing the rather more exotic rabbit and pepper stew.

Jaune also asked for a triple shot of whiskey, on the rocks – at which point Weiss frowned, and said,

"You should try not to drink too much."

Her disapproval took him by surprise; Weiss had never struck him as the puritanical sort.

Deciding not to make too big a deal out of things, Jaune chose to reply with light-hearted quip –

"You know, the woman nagging the man on his drinking habits traditionally happens _after_ the wedding, not before."

Weiss rolled her eyes.

"You wish, Arc."

And with a smirk, she added –

"And isn't talk of marriage premature, for a guy who has never even dated a girl?"

It was now Jaune's turn to roll his eyes, even while Weiss gave a victorious grin.

They continued bantering for a while more, but as they did, Jaune found his eyes wandering back to the hulking man nursing a drink alone, at a table across the room.

Jaune's smile from trading witticisms with Weiss slowly faded, as he began to recognize who said man was.

Weiss, ever sharp, did not fail to notice who he was looking at, or the way his mood had shifted. Quietly, she asked,

"Is that someone you know?"

Jaune nodded, fractionally.

"An old friend of my father's."

_Rainart. Hazel Rainart._

That was his name, and dimly Jaune could just about remember the last time he had seen his father and his friend speak. It had been in their ancestral village of Domremy, just a few weeks before Jaune's whole world had come crashing down –

"_**This**__ –"_

_The big, burly man's voice was deep, and dangerous._

"– _is a mistake, Jakis. The Queen has generously extended to you an offer of neutrality. Are you so great a fool as to reject it?"_

_From the top of the stairs, twelve-year old Jaune had to strain his ears to hear the conversation as it occurred within the living room, but he could make out the gist of it. But regardless, his father's anger was unmistakable, as he snapped in reply,_

"_If this is all you came to tell me, Hazel, you should have spared yourself the journey. I am not a coward, and my life is not so precious to me that I would betray the world to save it."_

_The giant of a man crossed his arms._

"_I see that I am not welcome. I must decline your offer of dinner, then, old friend; another day, perhaps. But be warned, my Queen is not patient, and she expects an answer very soon."_

_He stood from the sofa, making it creak as his massive bulk was lifted from it. He moved towards the front door, and out of Jaune's field of vision from atop the stairs._

_But before leaving, the man said one, final thing –_

"_My Queen has spoken, and she will not be denied. If you insist on defying her, your family __**will**__ pay the price. Remember that, before you decide."_

_Hazel Rainart then departed – leaving Jakis Arc stewing in his anger, and Jaune mired in questions he could not answer._

Even now, Jaune didn't understand what that conversation had been about – Valean politics, he suspected – but it was all moot anyway, given the events that occurred not long after.

The arrival of the waitress with his whiskey brought him back to the present.

After thanking the lady for bringing his drink, Jaune took a healthy draught from it.

Weiss, meanwhile, decided to ask him –

"If that's a family friend, shouldn't you go over and greet him?"

Weiss's question drew a sharp snort from Jaune.

"Not at all. I'm no longer on good terms with my father, and his friends mean little and less to me."

"Ah."

Weiss nodded, in understanding.

"My sympathies. Believe me, I know what it's like to have a difficult relationship with one's father.

Jaune nodded in solidarity, and took another generous swig of whiskey – before adding, unprompted,

"I always wanted to be a huntsman and a hero, and my father was helping to train me to be so. But then, after the rest of my family died, he became utterly opposed to my choice of career, and refused to unlock my aura. Since only an Arc can unlock Arc's aura, I was forced to go to extremes to make my dreams come true. Did you know, when I was launched into the Emerald Forest during initiation, I didn't have aura? It was on the way down – through sheer strength of will, in the face of imminent death – that I managed to unlock my aura, and avoid becoming a bloody splat."

Weiss gaped at him, and was left speechless for long seconds.

It was only after he took another generous swig of whiskey, that she managed to find her tongue, and say,

"But why? Why did you want to be a huntsman so badly, that you would risk your life for it?"

Jaune was silent, for a while.

It was a natural question to ask, and yet...

Jaune drained the rest of his whiskey. With an empty stomach, he was getting drunk rather quickly.

He put the whiskey glass back onto the table with a clink.

This matter was something he had long bottled up – but between the beautiful girl he liked offering compassion... and the stares of the other guests prickling with judgement... and on top of that his own deepening inebriation...

... Jaune felt the need to get things off his chest.

Slowly, hesitantly, he begun his explanation.

"It was five years ago. I was alone at home, practising my technique drills in our family's training hall, when it happened. I still remember it, clear as day – the village-wide emergency sirens going off, and my own mounting terror, as I realized what was happening; that a horde of Grimm was attacking.

"And even after I got my initial terror under control, my brain told, very rationally, _we're dead_. My father and most of our huntsmen were out of the village on various missions, and I myself was a half-trained twelve year old without aura. It's an old Arc tradition, don't you know?"

Jaune gave a derisive laugh.

"We don't get our auras unlocked until we turn seventeen and complete our training. Pain is the best teacher, and all that. Failing to move correctly, to strike and block properly, to use the right technique to counter the opponent effectively – all these get you smashed by your opponent's practice wooden sword, leaving bruises that last for weeks. That pain then pushes you to do better the next time – in contrast to someone with aura, who wouldn't have gotten injured, and who would quickly have gotten the price of failure."

Jaune shook his head.

"Which is great for training – but now it was a life and death battle , and I was worse than useless. All I could do was run – run for my life, run for the fortified keep at the centre of the village, where we civilians could cower and hide."

"And so I did, along with everyone else. All my neighbours, all my friends, all my fellow villagers, we ran for it. Men and women, families and couples, children and elders, it didn't matter. It was chaos, and panic, and a terrified, desperate rush to the keep."

Jaune gestured strongly, as if to indicate the terrifying, hysterical sprint for safety.

"And when I got to the keep, I immediately raced up to the portcullis chamber on the second floor, where I could look out the tiny slit window, towards the rest of the village. And what I saw... it was horrible, Weiss. Grimm were pouring in from the village's front gate – Beowolves, King Taijitu, a Deathstalker... and leading this pack of monsters, a thing of nightmares. Screeching and screaming, its movement erratic and lurching, it was a corpse riding a monstrous horse. An elder Grimm, a Nuckelavee – the envoy of our end, and a promise that we were truly damned.

Jaune clenched his fist.

"It rode people down, crushed them under its hooves – while all around, people were dying by the hundreds. The Deathstalker pulping people with its pincers, and skewering survivors with its tail. King Taijitu crushing some men just by moving, while eating others whole. Beowolves chasing down those too old and too slow to get to safety, ripping them to shreds with their teeth and claws until nothing was left but blood and gore."

His hands were shaking, by now.

"And all this time, hoping against hope, I kept looking for my family – my mother, and my seven sisters, who had been out shopping together. When I saw them on a nearby road, running towards the keep along with a much larger crowd of people, I thought my prayers had been answered. Except –"

Jaune swallowed.

"– except it was too late. The Nuckelavee had arrived, the triple portcullis gate had to be closed and I..."

Jaune closed his eyes – and in his mind, he could _see_, blood and darkness, red and black, and horror unlike any in this world or the next.

"... I saw, right before me, my family die screaming, die begging, as they got ripped limb from limb, their bodies torn apart, their entrails eaten and their heads _squashed_."

He lost it at that point, his fist lashing out to smash the table. The loud noise made other guests turn and look at him in shock and aggravation, but Jaune was well past the point of caring.

Instead, holding his other hand up to massage his temples, Jaune continued speaking.

"I don't remember much of what happened after that – just that I vomited all over the floor, and then sat there all the way until evening came. And not that I was paying too much attention by then, but we survivors in the keep were in a desperate situation. The hundred or so of us – about a tenth of Domremy's original population – were trapped, with the Grimm pounding away at the keep entrance. And though they couldn't break through the strong steel and dense stone right away, it was just a matter of time before our defences gave. And with the village's communications tower destroyed, and we had no way to contact the outside world. Of course, we hoped that help would arrive anyway – perhaps from our huntsmen returning early, or with Vale inferring disaster from our radio silence and sending aid – but as they say, it's the hope that kills you."

"Because with the dying of the day, came a monster that blotted out the sun."

Jaune laughed – and if he sounded hysterical, that was because he was.

"A Goliath – a rogue that had strayed from its herd. A hundred meters tall and with the bulk to match, it was like a mountain had learnt to walk. A titan-class Grimm was here, and at that moment we knew despair and fear. The people in the keep – they finally cracked. Some people broke down crying; others began pounding the walls and screaming; and yet others got down on their knees, to pray to gods that didn't exist, for salvation that wasn't coming. And me – I just stood there; looking out, waiting to die.

"And then _she_ appeared, like a meteor from the heavens. Glynda Goodwitch descended in a blaze of violet light, before slowing to a stop and hovering above the battlefield in an effortless demonstration of flight. Within seconds, the earth began to shake; not from the Goliath, which hadn't moved a step, but from Goodwitch, who was tearing rocks from the earth, and shaping them into a gigantic spear which she then sent hurtling towards the titan – piercing its armour, and hurting it in a way I didn't think humanly possible. The behemoth roared, and retaliated by swinging its massive trunk up and shooting a burst of dark, aura-corroding Grimm liquid at Goodwitch; but she blocked, by forming the rocks floating around her into a shield that dwarfed even the monster. And then, even as the shield began crumbling, _it_ came, like lightning from a clear blue sky. Raw kinetic force ripped apart the Goliath's head, and shattered the very ground, for hundreds of meters around – leaving nothing in its wake but devastation, and a solitary silver sword, shining in the air, immaculate, pristine, _perfect_. I never thought I would get to see it in person, but there it was, Glynda Goodwitch's _Judgement_, a double-bladed weapon five meters long and one wide, too heavy to be lifted by muscles and mortal might, but by her mind called into godlike speed and flight – to render upon enemies divine judgement, and absolute destruction from the heavens. Maybe I'm gushing a bit, but it truly is an awesome weapon; the Goliath couldn't withstand it, and neither could the other Grimm, all of whom were obliterated by Goodwitch soon after. And so, we were saved – well, some of us at least; can't speak for the nine hundred dead."

Jaune finished his story, his throat dry and raw from speaking so much, and for so long. And if he sounded bitter at the end – well, he was; salvation had come, eventually, but too late for most of the village, not least for his own family.

Weiss seemed stunned, until sympathy and sorrow moved to say –

"I'm sorry."

That prompted Jaune to smile softly, and say,

"Thanks. I appreciate the concern. Still, it's not even that uncommon a story. The Domremy Collapse is just one of many – and in the aftermath of such attacks, children often decide they want to become huntsmen; brave and selfless heroes, helping to save people, and working to prevent the same tragedies which befell them from befalling others. I think it's magnificent, and moving."

Upon hearing this, Weiss seemed moved.

"Yes. That's a mature, hopeful way to look at things. I'm glad you think that way."

Jaune gave a smile –

– and for a moment, he could almost forget the deeper, darker secret locked beneath the already tragic tale.

One day, when he had sacrificed enough – and showed a scornful world that his words were neither lies nor bluffs – only then would he tell Weiss the full and brutal truth.

But today was not that day.

_And will it ever be, I wonder?_

-(=RWBY=)-


	9. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight VIII

He and Weiss ended up having a relatively subdued dinner – no surprise, after the weighty matters Jaune had brought up.

After eating, they retired back to their room. Weiss had some Schnee Dust Company reports to read, and analyze, and write assessments on. This was not, as Jaune had initially thought, some responsibility her father had foisted on her – so much as a voluntary exercise Weiss chosen to undertake, so as to better understand the company she hoped to lead one day.

Jaune admired her work ethic – especially since he found it hard to imagine something more boring than reading business reports. At least schoolwork – on history, say – was interesting in its own right.

Leaving Weiss to her work, Jaune grabbed Crocea Mors, before heading out – he had training to do.

On the way down the stairs, he met Pyrrha and Blake, recently returned from a long day of exploring the village.

Greeting them with a raised hand, Jaune asked,

"Hey. How did the sightseeing go?"

Pyrrha gave a sunny smile, and replied,

"Oh, very well. Rothenburg is such an interesting village – we're almost spoilt for choice in places to visit and things to do."

Blake gave a slight nod, which for the reticent girl was the equivalent of full-throated agreement; she must have had really enjoyed the afternoon.

Pyrrha, meanwhile, went on to say,

"Do help to thank Weiss for recommending the cafe. The scones with the jam and cream were mouth-watering! Unhealthy, of course, but that can't be helped..."

As Pyrrha trailed off, the corners of Blake's mouth twitched up, and the reason for the latter's amusement became clear as she offered –

"Pyrrha had four whole scones."

That revelation had Pyrrha grimacing, and rubbing her stomach, before saying,

"I'll work it off in training."

At that point, Jaune could not help but offer gentle ribbing of his own.

"How unhealthy would you rate the scones, on a scale of zero to ten, where fifty's Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes?"

Pyrrha smiled ruefully, and shook her head.

"I can't wait to get out of that endorsement deal."

The star athlete had never been enthusiastic about promoting the product, recognizing as she did how sugary and unhealthy it was.

Right then, Jaune's eye caught sight of the shopping bag in Blake's hand. Knowing his teammate...

"You bought some books, Blake?"

"... yes."

Jaune nodded.

"That's cool. I bought some myself, this morning. Of course, the stories were just a bunch of fairytales... not _Ninjas of Love_ or anything."

He managed to keep his face deadpan even as he delivered that line, but Pyrrha showed no such self-control, for she dissolved into a fit of embarrassed, scandalized giggling upon hearing the joke.

Blake hid her mortification behind a glare, and pushed past him to head to her and Pyrrha's room without another word.

Perhaps it wasn't the most mature thing, to make fun of another person's love of erotica – but it was too funny a matter to not mention. And, in any case, it was Blake's own fault for leaving her smut lying around – Jaune had been minding his own business, and searching their dorm's shared bookshelf for a textbook; he hadn't asked to stumble upon a novel whose centrefold was two nude guys in erotic poses.

Pyrrha – having managed to stop giggling, even if she was still red-faced – looked at her mission partner huffily enter their room, before turning to him, and saying,

"That was rude, Jaune."

Even that mild chastisement was hard to take seriously, what with it coming from a girl who had just recently been giggling herself senseless.

With an amused smile, Jaune replied,

"Better rude than lewd."

With that, Jaune bade a good evening to Pyrrha, before making his way down the stairs and out of the inn.

His destination was a gym located on the main thoroughfare, halfway to the outskirts of the village. Given his and Weiss's early dinner, it was still only early evening as he made his way over, the sky bright red from the setting sun.

He drew some stares on his way to the gym, but as with the attention he received during dinner, he ignored it all. Of everything in his life that he might have had cause to regret, what he did to Neo was not one of them – and he refused to be affected by the disdain of those who did not understand.

After a brisk walk, he arrived at the gym – a short, squat place painted dull grey. It didn't fit the aesthetic out the village at all, which was just as well that it was located nowhere near the historic village centre – there, it would have been an even greater eyesore.

Jaune entered the place, and after a short back and forth with the employee on duty, arranged for a month's membership. That was how long his team was going to be stationed in the village, and for the duration of their stay, he needed a place to do his strength training.

The gym was largely empty, which Jaune took advantage of, by marching straight for the open floor area typically used for aerobic classes.

Unsheathing Crocea Mors, Jaune started with some basic technical exercises – in movement, in striking, and in defending – before beginning his technique drills.

He fell into them with practised ease – these various sequences of actions, each one designed to maximize one's chances of victory in specific combat situations.

The expected timing of an opponent's attack; the number of enemies faced; the technological sophistication of their weapons and dust usage – such variables dictated which specific techniques were useful and which were not, and being able to identify the right technique for the right circumstances was the difference between winning effortlessly and dying horribly.

Some of the scenarios he trained for were quite esoteric, but Jaune ran through the relevant technique drills anyway – he wasn't about to let laziness get him killed, on the off chance he actually did have to face an eccentric in full plate armour, or some backwater huntsman sticking dust crystals into himself.

With a satisfying swing of his sword, Jaune decapitated yet another imaginary opponent, thereby completing his final technique drill.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Jaune then sheathed Crocea Mors, and began making his way to an empty squat rack at the other side of the gym.

This gym, unfortunately, didn't have what Beacon's did – technologically-advanced barbells and plates, infused with gravity dust, and whose weight a huntsman could increase to extreme amounts simply by running their aura through them. Consequently, to actually provide meaningful resistance against his aura-enhanced strength, Jaune was forced to load an absurd number of ordinary metal plates onto a single barbell.

Then, using a trick favoured by fellow gym rats Yang and Nora, he secured a pair of chains to the end of the barbell – thus adding a bit of sway and instability, and increasing the challenge of lifting the bar.

With that set-up work done, Jaune then proceeded to the actual lifting of weights. Bench presses, both normal and inclined, along with weighted pull-ups and dips – Jaune pushed himself hard on these exercises, knowing that all the skill in the world amounted to very little if you lacked the strength and musculature to stand and trade blows against strong men and even stronger monsters.

The next hour or so passed in this fashion, with the weightlifting interspersed with reading – and replying to – the occasional message from Weiss on his scroll.

At the end, after a good strength workout that left him gratifyingly sore, Jaune then headed back to the open floor area, for some concluding agility drills.

His grandfather had never been enamoured with such newfangled sports science practices, but the results spoke for themselves – Jaune doubted he could have kept up with the likes of Neo without the appropriate training.

Hence, Jaune gave his all, as he practised various lateral manoeuvring exercises on an agility ladder.

And that when it happened.

_Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!_

A howling siren pierced the night air, and Jaune felt the dread bubble up within him.

_A Grimm attack._

Reminding himself that he was far stronger now than he was back then – and that this attack was unlikely to involve titan-class Grimm – Jaune tamped down on his emotions before panic could consume him.

With sheer force of will, Jaune put his rationality back in charge of his mind and body – which allowed him to started prioritizing accordingly.

First things first – he grabbed Crocea Mors, and began sprinting for the front gate. Time was of the essence, and whether they could stop the Grimm before they breached the gate was going to make the difference between a successful defence on the one hand, and a slaughtered village on the other.

Secondarily – as he ran, he fired off a voice message to his teammates, calling them to immediately arm and armour themselves before joining him at the village gate. The whole of JWBN needed to be present, if they were to fend off this Grimm incursion.

Thirdly, and almost as an afterthought – he sent a message to Beacon, requesting reinforcements. For better or for worse, however, the fate of the village would probably be decided long before any other huntsmen could come to their aid.

Jaune sped up, and with a final burst reached the open square in front of the village gate.

It was a brutal sight. Four bodies lay scattered around the square – four bodies, without heads. Smears of flesh and bone, crushed into the cobblestones, and trailing from vacant necks – that was all that was left of these once living beings.

But even with their craniums pulverized to bloody pulp, it was not too difficult to identify the dead men and women. From their mecha-shift weapons, it was clear they were the local huntsman team that JWBN had briefly met earlier that morning, upon arriving in the village.

With them dead, JWBN – and possibly Rainart, if the man was still around – were the only huntsmen left in the village. It was going to be the fight of their lives, and them surviving the night was a scenario far from guaranteed.

Jaune glanced at the open gate. He could sense the Grimm – a mass of roiling, seething darkness hell-bent upon killing the living – as they closed in upon the village. They were only a couple hundred meters away, with that distance ever shrinking.

Jaune drew Crocea Mors, and –

_Wait a minute._

Two fantastically worrying questions came to mind even as Jaune began steeling himself for a fight.

The first was –

_Where are the Grimm who killed these huntsmen?_

And the second was –

_Why is the village gate open, and its portcullis up, when it's meant to be closed after dark?_

The truth came to Jaune, clear and obvious and terrifying.

There _was_ no Grimm already in the village; it was a human who killed these huntsmen, and a human who opened the gate.

It was probably just one huntsman, rather than a team, if the identical ways in which the local huntsmen had been murdered was any indication; but still, the idea of even a single person betraying humanity to the Grimm was a thought impossibly dark and utterly unsettling.

Unearthly howling came, from beyond the gate and walls.

The last thing Jaune had time to do was send a voice message to his team –

"A traitor huntsman killed the local huntsman team and opened the gates to the Grimm. Trust no one but ourselves, and watch your backs."

And then the battle was joined.

Gravel exploded from under his feet as Jaune propelled himself forward into the mass of Beowolves collapsing upon the village gate.

Knowing that even a single blow landed upon him could lose him his footing, and let the whole lot of them dogpile him, it was essential that Jaune kill the pack without conceding even a scratch. With aura pushing his body to its limits, Jaune summoned the raw speed he required, to overcome the disadvantage of being outnumbered, and of standing one against a hundred.

Slash. Evade. Strike. Avoid. Sever. Leap clear.

Jaune weaved and whirled his way through the Beowolves, his sword a silver blur cutting them down, even as his body danced around every outstretched claw, and glided below every snapping jaw.

All around him, the monsters dissolved into darkness, while he himself was untouched.

But even as the thrill of battle coursed through him, Jaune could feel himself tiring – and with every second that passed, and every strike he made, and every blow he ducked under to let pass over head, he was slowing.

He couldn't keep this up forever –

– but thankfully, he didn't need to.

Steel rained down, skewering Beowolves all around, and turning them into a dark mist that faded into the night.

Pyrrha Nikos landed next to him, one arm extended to summon Miló back from the Beowolf it just annihilated, even as the other weapons – borrowed from the corpses of the murdered huntsmen, Jaune noted – remained embedded deep within the ground, a testament to the sheer power with which Pyrrha's semblance of Polarity had driven them into the enemy.

"Weiss and Blake?"

Jaune asked that question of Pyrrha, as she crouched down on the ground beside him, and she answered,

"Blake's lowering the portcullis, and Weiss is guarding her."

Jaune nodded, approvingly. It was smart of them, to prioritize the closure of the gate – preventing the Grimm from entering the village was what mattered, above all else. And, given the traitor huntsman on the loose, having a partner on guard was a wise precaution.

"Good."

He gave that one word reply, and then, as the rumbling of the ground signalled the approach of a couple of King Taijitu, he told Pyrrha,

"Deal with the Beowolves, will you? And I'll handle the King Taijitu."

She nodded in reply. No words were said; no words were needed.

Like poetry in motion, and like grace given form, Pyrrha used a smooth twist of her body and an arcing of her arm, to launch her spear into the body of a nearby Beowolf; and then, with sheer economy of movement, she transitioned into a twirl, to send her shield spinning through the air, and pushing back against Beowolves in their stillborn attempts to lunge in and attack.

Meanwhile, Jaune himself raced forward, cutting down Beowolves and carving a path towards the incoming group of King Taijitu.

The closest one noticed his approach, and immediately flung itself forward against him.

With its other head standing ready to punish any evasive actions, there was little room for clever manoeuvring or effective repositioning. Instead, this was going to be a contest of strength and toughness – a contest Jaune was more than happy to enter.

Bringing his sword up, Jaune blocked the massive fangs of the serpentine Grimm as it bore down upon him.

He was pushed back, with his legs gorging deep grooves into the ground, but for all that massive bulk coming in at speed, and for all that force the Grimm was exerting, Jaune was utterly unhurt, the aura he was using to enhance his durability having done its work.

Then, disengaging his sword from the fangs and arcing it around, Jaune used his aura-boosted strength to cleave the white-scaled head into two.

The King Taijitu's remaining half roared, but Jaune was already on it, his sword arcing out to all but behead the black-scaled portion of the snake.

Hissing to his back warned Jaune that the recently destroyed Grimm had companions, and so Jaune moved on to his next targets.

Once more, raw resilience and sheer strength carried the day, as Jaune systematically repelled the headlong charges of the other King Taijitu, and punished each failed attack with retaliatory execution.

Then, as Jaune jumped off the rapidly-disintegrating corpse of his most recently killed snake, a wave of fire and a hail of bullets destroyed a group of Grimm about to rush Pyrrha.

Weiss Schnee and Blake Belladonna leapt into the fray, and joined Pyrrha in killing the pack of Beowolves, with Myrtenaster trailing fire and Gambol Shroud pumping out round after round.

It was perfect timing. Seeing the silhouette of a stinger against the faint light of the moon, Jaune called out to his team –

"Weiss, Blake, handle the Beowolves! Pyrrha, kill the remaining King Taijitu, while I stop the Deathstalker!"

Trusting his team to do as he directed, Jaune dodged a strike from one of the few King Taijitu not yet slain, and then sprinted for the giant scorpion.

With its two huge pincers and a wicked stinger capable of delivering fatal toxins, the Deathstalker was a dangerous opponent. Moreover, given the heavy armour protecting the creature's entire body, relying on raw speed and strength to overcome it was not going to be a particularly effective strategy. Here, Jaune needed a deliberate approach, one incorporating both skill and subtlety.

The Deathstalker's tail jabbed at him, and Jaune dodged, even while bringing Crocea Mors arcing towards base of the stinger, at the point where two of the scorpion's armour plates met each other.

His sword sliced right through the weak point, and brought the toxin-laden stinger crashing to ground.

The Deathstalker roared, and snapped its right pincer forward in an attempt to crush Jaune –

– but Jaune leapt above the attack, to somersault right onto the pincer itself. This was not a manoeuvre Jaune would have attempted when the Deathstalker's stinger was still attached, and capable of striking at him in midair, but now, the Deathstalker's options at attack were limited.

With a downward swipe of his blade, Jaune cut off the Deathstalker's right pincer, precisely at the point where its armour plates edged each other.

And as another roar was loosened by the monster, and as it brought its remaining pincer angling for him, Jaune vaulted to the side, right onto the Deathstalker's very head.

Spinning, Jaune's eyes searched for the correct spot on the Deathstalker's head, where armour was absent and only feeble flesh was present.

Upon finding it, Jaune brought his sword stabbing down, to drive the steel right into the monster.

The Deathstalker collapsed, and with a wrench, Jaune drew his sword back out of the monster's corpse.

At the same time, his team seemed to be having things well in hand. Pyrrha had killed the remaining King Taijitu, while Weiss and Blake were successfully holding off the Beowolves – and if Jaune's eyes weren't deceiving him, the hordes were starting to thin out.

They were winning, and Jaune felt some degree of hope and relief creep back into him.

But the world was a cruel place, and it was right then that the screams started coming in from the direction of the village.

Jaune's head snapped towards the gate. The portcullis was down, Weiss and Blake having succeeded in their task. However, it was possible that some Grimm had gotten into the village regardless, by scaling the walls – or, in the case of larger Grimm like King Taijitu, just by crawling right over.

"Pyrrha, Weiss, Blake! Hold the line here. I'll scour the village and kill any Grimm that made it past the walls."

He ran even as he shouted his instructions, and though he needed to cut down some Beowolves blocking his path, he got back to the village gate in no time at all.

With a powerful leap, Jaune cleared the top of the gatehouse, before landing on its stone-paved, battlements-lined roof. To both his left and right, the village walls stretched out into the distance, curving gently so that they would eventually join up at the village's northern side, to form an oval-shaped defensive barrier around Rothenburg. A walkway ran atop the walls, so as to allow a person to patrol the length of it, and to ensure that no Grimm was trying to get over.

Jaune would do that later – for now, he had to hunt down the Grimm already within the village.

He stretched his aura sense outwards, desperately trying to locate the Grimm terrorizing the villagers –

– but the emanations of darkness he could pinpoint were strange things, far too weak to be actual Grimm.

He doubted that this was the work of the traitor huntsman either, for the screams were coming from too many places, for it to be a single person going around and shooting or stabbing others. And of course, Jaune could sense no active aura signature in the village, which ruled out the traitor huntsman using a semblance capable of dealing damage over a wide area.

But if all other possibilities had been eliminated, then... then...

Jaune glanced down at the empty square; it was devoid of people, and also _devoid of corpses_.

The truth came like a punch to the liver, and left Jaune gagging in disgust and horror – so much so that he would almost have preferred it if the situation were as simple as a Goliath coming into the village and rolling everything over.

_Necrovalock._

With their ability to reanimate corpses, and to turn the dead into soulless puppets, Necrovalocks were creatures whose very existence was a crime against nature; an outrage, to all people; a sin, against the very world's moral order.

There were stronger Grimm, and there were more brutal ones, but nothing in heaven and earth was half as horrifying as a monster that could use your body in death, to murder those who loved you in life.

And with every person killed, and with ever village slaughtered, the Necrovalock's army of the damned grew ever bigger, and capable of threatening even a capital city – which was one reason why no nation on Remnant would ever tolerate a Necrovalock within its borders; were one to be found, an entire army of huntsmen would be activated, to wipe the monster out.

The last known Necrovalock had been exterminated in the Great War, but it seemed that the species was not quite as extinct as the world thought it to be.

With a sudden, vertiginous exhaustion, Jaune realized that his team's task had suddenly taken on monumental significance; failure here didn't just mean the destruction of a village, but the possible emergence of a region-destroying threat.

Movement on the main thoroughfare caught Jaune's eye.

Confirming all his suspicions, and all his fears, four headless corpses strode into view.

It was the murdered huntsmen; and despite their distinct lack of heads, they seemed to move just fine – and indeed, they seemed to sense him just fine as well, for they immediately started dashing towards where he stood.

Jaune found the time to fire off a message to Beacon – they needed to know of the threat – and to send a voice message to the rest of his team.

"Team JWBN, there's a Necrovalock in the area, and reanimated corpses are killing people within the village."

Gasps of horror and shouts of disbelief were the response he got from his team, and though he fully sympathized with their feelings, they had no time for this.

"Pyrrha and Blake, continue holding the line against the Grimm outside, but Weiss, I need you back here with your fire dust, to hunt down the Necrovalock's puppets, as I search for and destroy Necrovalock itself."

Out in the distance, Jaune could see Weiss turn away from the fight with the Beowolves, and, using her glyphs, accelerate her way through the air and back towards the village.

Satisfied, Jaune started to turn his attention back to the undead huntsmen.

Without aura, the corpses lacked the strength their living selves possessed; but even so, the Necrovalock's dark power thrummed through them, making them at least as powerful, and at least as dangerous, as the average Beowolf.

Weiss landed next to him, and Jaune immediately told her,

"I'll deal with these guys. You head deeper into the village. Maybe starting that way –"

Jaune pointed east, towards a big cluster of Grimm signatures he sensed.

" – would probably be best."

Weiss spared him a nod, before stepping on a glyph and vanishing in a blur of speed.

At this point, the undead huntsmen were closing in, and Jaune was getting ready to jump down from the gatehouse and make short work of them –

– except Hazel Rainart emerged from a nearby house, and with speed nearly too fast to follow, slammed into the nearest corpse puppet, and smashed it into the ground so hard the whole body just blew apart.

A shower of gore and gristle rained down onto the stones, and for all that the carnage churned one's stomach, no one could not deny its effectiveness – the Necrovalock was not about to resurrect a thousand bits of bloody flesh scattered around the square.

His father's old friend, with his scarred forearms and close cropped beard, looked up Jaune, and roared –

"Go, boy! Find the Necrovalock!"

Jaune gave a short, sharp nod – and then he was off.

He ran along the walkway atop the village walls; he suspected the Necrovalock was going to be keeping close to the village, so as to be able to reanimate more corpses and expand its undead army.

Jaune cast his senses out – further and further, stretching his attention so thin he could barely make out anything at a qualitative level beyond the presence – or absence – of Grimm.

A particular Grimm signature caught his attention – not just for how strong it was, and not simply for its proximity to the walls, but for the mere fact that fact it was keeping still, and failing to at all move even as the seconds ticked by. An ordinary Grimm would have been in constant motion, mindlessly chasing after the nearest humans; for one to stay in the same place over time – that signalled the sort of self-control and intelligence only elder Grimm possessed.

Reaching the spot on the walls closest to the Grimm signature in question, Jaune then leapt down.

Crocea Mors in hand, Jaune raced into the thicket of trees where his enemy awaited.

He was not disappointed.

In the silent forest glade stood a thin humanoid figure, its pitch black body emaciated like a starving child's, and its head an alabaster skull broken into a dozen pieces, but held together all the same by a tapestry of sable stitches.

In looks and mannerisms, the elder Grimm was uncannily like a human – more so than any other Grimm Jaune had the misfortunate to meet – but it was precisely that which made is so unsettling, and so viscerally revolting.

Without hesitation, Jaune attacked –

– only for a corpse on the forest floor to spring up, and stab at him with a sword, thus forcing Jaune to halt his assault and get his own blade up in a last minute block.

As he matched blades with the Necrovalock's puppet, Jaune found himself unpleasantly surprised, by the sheer strength of the reanimated corpse.

Proximity to its master, and the Necrovalock focusing its power – those would plausibly explain the puppet's strength. Whatever the reason, however, it was clear that this would be no easy fight. Even as Jaune disengaged, and took a few steps back to give himself space, he shifted his mind towards identifying an opening.

The Necrovalock, unfortunately, had other ideas. With a cackling laugh, and a gesture of its fingers, fog began descending upon the forest clearing, while wraiths of the past – incredibly, impossibly, intolerably – began emerging from thin air.

Eight people – women and girls, with hair the colour of sunshine and eyes the blue of an azure sky – stood before Jaune.

_No._

His mother, and his sisters.

Jaune's mouth worked, but not a sound came out. Whispers or screams, it mattered not – speaking was beyond him now.

Emotions flitted across the faces of his deceased family, and what he saw chilled him to the bone.

Sorrow and sadness. Disappointment and dismay. Anger and outrage. Loathing, detestation, _hate_.

Then the whispering started.

"Jaune..."

"How could you do that to us?"

"Coward! Asshole! Traitor!"

"_Die_, you worthless excuse for a brother."

Their accusations poured forth in a deluge, fast and furious and _true_.

This wasn't real, of course; none of it was. The rational part of his brain knew, all too well, that this was but a hallucination the Necrovalock was projecting, by pulling out his memories of the dead.

_But it doesn't matter, does it?_

The trauma came, not from believing that these ghosts truly were one's dead family, but from knowing that the accusations were, legitimately, what his family would have made, had they been alive to do so.

And of course they weren't – because of him.

Any lesser mortal would have collapsed under this assault, this torrent of the truth, as the weight of their crimes was revealed; as guilt brought them to their knees; as they accepted death as punishment justly earned.

The Necrovalock's puppet lunged forward, its sword point racing towards Jaune's heart.

Time seemed to freeze.

Jaune had a decision to make – yield to society's condemnation, or trust his own judgement.

It was no choice at all.

Crocea Mors arced forward, faster and stronger and surer than ever, to deflect the strike to the side.

The Necrovalock itself seemed shocked, that its ultimate power was failing to work – that somehow, a human could fail to succumb to guilt and fear.

Stepping into the puppet's guard, Jaune twisted his blade around and lopped off his opponent's sword arm; then, he followed up, by slicing and dicing the whole corpse into little shreds – until it was in far too mangled a state for even the elder Grimm to resurrect.

No more reanimations; the dead would stay dead.

"You seem confused."

Despite himself, Jaune was compelled to talk to the Grimm. The creature seemed intelligent enough – indeed, when it was laughing previously, it emanated a malicious glee almost human, in how it let its pleasure be taken, from another sentient being's pain and tribulations.

If it had the mental sophistication to feel schadenfreude, then perhaps it would also be smart enough to understand this –

"It's simple enough, Grimm. Guilt is for those fettered by moral constraints. Guilt is for those with a conscience. Guilt is for _humans_. Believe me, I suffer from no such hindrance."

To the hallucination that was his dead family, he offered –

"I'm sorry for what happened. But there was no other way."

Jaune then dashed forward, and decapitated the Necrovalock. As its head fell from its shoulder to the forest floor, so too did the shades of his family fade – as did the Grimm signatures within the village disappear, the undead puppets collapsing from the death of their master.

The Necrovalock's corpse almost immediately began dissipating – giving it peace in death that it didn't deserve or earn; that its own victims were never given.

As he watched the Grimm he defeated fade into blackness, Jaune wasn't sure what to feel, and what to think.

He had duelled an actual, elder Grimm, and come out with a win. The Necrovalock had been poised to threaten the whole eastern portion of the Kingdom, before Jaune put a stop to it through quick, decisive action. This ought to have been a glorious moment – an epic victory, of the sorts unseen since the darkest days of the last century.

Instead, he only felt empty.

Jaune's jaws clenched

_The navel-gazing can wait; the others still need my help._

After marking this spot in the forest with his mind – so they could come back here later, and give a proper burial to the poor man he had just chopped up – Jaune began heading back to the village.

Vaulting back onto the village walls, Jaune started retracing his steps back to the gate.

And when he arrived, he was pleased to find that there were no more Grimm in sight; his team and Mr Rainart had clearly succeeded.

Except –

_Where's Pyrrha? Where's Blake?_

Mr Rainart was near, while Weiss he could vaguely sense, on the north side of the village, possibly fending off Grimm trying to scale the walls there. But as for his partner, and Blake – nothing.

Jaune jumped down to ground, ready to ask Mr Rainart if his team had foolishly started chasing Grimm out into nearby forests.

Upon landing on the cobblestone square in front of the gate, Jaune turned towards where –

_neorgnqoeurbfoqf_

The sight he saw then froze his heart, and turned his brain to mush, and made his whole body heave and wrack and threaten to gag.

Pyrrha Nikos, the girl the world thought invincible, and his very first friend at Beacon...

... she lay slumped against the village wall, within a pool of her own blood, and with a hole blown right through a stomach.

Jaune collapsed to his knees beside her.

He reached out, impotently, ineffectually, uselessly – as if he could still save her; as if this wasn't a wound far too grievous to heal; as if her eyes weren't already closed and her breathing stopped, for good.

Jaune prayed; he really did – that this was a hallucination of the Necrovalock's; that this was some illusion by Neo; that this was a terrible nightmare from which he would soon wake.

But it was none of that – and reality could not just be remade, simply because his friend was dead.

Across the street, Jaune could see the other member of his team.

Blake Belladonna, a girl whose people deserved better from the world, and a person who had treated him with professional courtesy even if they weren't friends...

... she was skewered to the village wall by a red spear and a black sword, by Miló, and Gambol Shroud.

Jaune really did vomit then, right onto the cobblestones, his stomach heaving until there was nothing left to retch; and he cried too, until he had no tears left to offer.

Then – and only then – did he stand.

Sword in hand, he looked across the square, to the monster that had murdered his friends.

Hazel Rainart was sat upon a pile of rocks, two massive crystals of lightning dust infused into his arms, and his bare hands stained crimson with blood.

The hate Jaune felt then was like nothing else he had ever experienced, and in that moment he felt more Grimm than human, his soul burning with loathing so intense and so overwhelming that no other emotion was left remaining.

Slowly, the man-mountain stood, and in a voice that rumbled like thunder, asked,

"Do you know who I am, Arc?"

To which Jaune snarled,

"Some dead fuck."

Feeding his aura until it was an inferno blazing brighter than the stars, Jaune burst forward, right at the same time Rainart nodded grimly and charged.

In that cobblestone square, steel sang and lightning flashed, as fist and sword clashed.

And whatever the outcome of the battle, one thing was certain – mercy would not be sought, nor quarter given.

-(=RWBY=)-


	10. Chapter 1 - Light at Midnight IX

With all his strength, Jaune brought Crocea Mors slashing down upon Hazel Rainart's incoming fist.

What happened next was something Jaune did not expect but ought to have, as Rainart's bare fist plowed right into the edge of the blade and knocked the whole sword aside, the steel blown away like a feather before a landslide.

Jaune managed to twist out of the way, but barely, his face mere inches from Rainart's left arm as it passed.

Rainart's fist smashed into the ground.

_! ! !_

The punch blew a hole into the earth, and created a web of fissures radiating outwards, shattering the cobblestone square in its entirety.

Jaune nearly lost his footing, but through a desperate repositioning of his left leg, he managed to keep his balance sufficiently to then lunge forward for a counterattack.

Rage and hate had pushed out all thought of tactics and of actually timing his attacks, but long years of training had ingrained in him enough force of habit that, on instinct, he went for the major weakness of physical dust infusion – the crystals. Though the powerful nimbus of electrical energy surrounding the user repelled even Anra steel, the crystals themselves were unprotected, and could be dislodged.

With a powerful downward stroke of his sword, Jaune struck the lightning dust crystal infused into Rainart's left arm –

– except the crystal did not budge, did not fall not to the ground, did not leave its user weakened and unprotected.

_What?_

Shock and dismay stunned Jaune long enough that he was unable dodge Rainart's retaliation.

The hulking man's meteor of a fist smashed Jaune right in the chest.

_! ! !_

Pain, intense and searing, exploded into being.

Every bone in his body felt broken, every muscle torn, every last nerve twisted and dipped in fire and set to burn.

Amidst the ruins of the house he had been blasted into, Jaune tried to stand, only to stumble, and fall onto his hands; he was injured, and badly so – that much he knew, from the pain in his chest not fading, and from his aura hovering near the point of breaking.

Rainart had him dead to rights. However, the man seemed in no rush to kill Jaune, instead walking closer at a slow and leisurely pace.

Sounding almost regretful, he said,

"Believe me, Jaune Arc, this was not my choice. Domremy wasn't, either."

Jaune was still struggling to get upright, and it was only through his two trembling hands on Crocea Mors and the use of his sword to stand, that he was even halfway to his feet.

The mention of his village, however, made him jerk his head up, and give an almost animalistic snarl. And even though his ribs burned and it hurt to even speak, Jaune hissed through gritted teeth –

"The Domremy Collapse was your doing."

It all made sense, now. The threat against his family, made to his father... and the village attacked, so soon after – that was no coincidence. Just as how Hazel Rainart had betrayed Rothenburg to the Grimm, by killing the village's huntsmen and opening the gates, he had to have somehow conspired to bring Domremy low.

Jaune didn't think it possible, but the hate he felt against the man only swelled.

As Jaune slowly and painfully, rose to his feet, he finally managed to look Hazel Rainart in the eyes.

The man grunted, confirming the accusation.

"Mmm. My Queen wasn't going to stand the Arcs opposing her any longer, and when your father rejected the peace she offered..."

Rainart trailed off, but the implications of what he was saying was clear.

Jaune was still trying to gather his strength; and between the need to buy time and the desire to know more, Jaune pushed down on his hate, and instead forced himself to make conversation with the murderer of his family, and the killer of his friends. With his abhorrence barely hidden, Jaune asked,

"And now? Are you here to finish what you started five years ago?"

Rainart had come to a stop some distance away.

"Yes. My Queen is not unmerciful. After Domremy, she made another offer, one your father accepted. If he did not unlock your aura, did not train you as a huntsmen, you two would be left in peace."

Jaune would have laughed, except his hate had left no space for humour.

_Is there nothing this man has not done to deny me what I love?_

Rainart was continuing.

"For years, your father upheld his end of the bargain. But then you went to Beacon anyway, and unlocked your aura the old-fashioned way."

The man shook his head.

"You should not have done that, boy. Now my Queen wants you dead."

_Queen._

Jaune had been hearing that word far too much for his liking. With a voice laced with both anger and contempt, he asked,

"And who is this _Queen_?"

Rainart shook his head.

"You would not believe me if I told you."

The silence after Rainart's refusal to answer stretched.

The time for violence, Jaune sensed, was imminent once again.

He wasn't ready. He knew that. Even without his own injuries, his opponent was a class above him – Rainart was as powerful as any Champion, even if he lacked the title to go with it. Jaune had never heard of anyone sticking that much dust into themselves; by rights, the brute of a man ought to have been spasming and twitching on the floor – incapacitated, by the agony of that much energy running through his body. But for whatever reason, he seemed not to be suffering in the least, and the results spoke for themselves – virtual invulnerability, and strength to split the earth.

And of course, Jaune was injured – every breath he took was fire, every shift of his chest torture. He had barely any aura left; enough to sustain the basic level of superhuman strength and durability he would need in combat, perhaps, but if any attack got through, Jaune was _dead_ – his aura couldn't take any more hits.

And the real kicker – his vaunted sword skills were of little use here, as Jaune had learnt. This very situation he had trained for – _hit the crystal, remove the protective energy nimbus, go for the kill_ – but the technique just hadn't work. The giant man, Jaune suspected, was using sheer muscular might to squeeze the crystals tight and hold them in place – and with Jaune's inferior strength, there was nothing he could do to dislodge them.

"Are you ready to die? I promise it'll be quick and painless."

Hazel Rainart spoke, having finally decided to bring things to a close.

Jaune bared his teeth.

_Is this it?_

The countless dead of Domremy. His own family. Rothenburg's local huntsmen. Pyrrha and Blake, his friends.

_Will they be unavenged?_

Jaune's skill with the sword was unparalleled; one setback ought not mean death.

_Is this the extent of your skill, and the limit of your will?_

Rainart was not going to stop here. In terms of villages he was helping destroy, Domremy would not have been the first, nor Rothenburg the last. Whether he was a Grimm cultist, or some terrorist engaged in political intrigue, it was certain that more villages would fall, and more people would be murdered, to sate this man and the so-called Queen he served.

_How many graves will be dug, how many orphans made, if you do not stop him today?_

Jaune's grip around his sword tightened.

_No. No more deaths. Whatever it takes, I'll beat this man._

His resolve hardened, as a rock might be crushed to diamond – the weight of the world itself squeezing out all flaws and leaving nothing but perfection.

Jaune raised Crocea Mors high, gathering his aura once more.

Where previously he had charged in, mindlessly, now Jaune had a plan in mind. Rainart was by far the stronger, and was all but invulnerable, but he wasn't any faster, nor did his skills seem anything special. Jaune could play a game of dodge-and-evade, until the man tired, and then perhaps an opportunity would emerge.

"Come, Rainart. Time to die."

The man obliged, blazing in without another word.

The passage of his fist parted the air where Jaune once stood, but Jaune was no longer there.

Pushing off with all his might, Jaune threw himself to the side, opening the space between him and Rainart to more than twenty yards.

Rainart's punch demolished what was left of the building, as the floor caved in and the remaining walls crumbled into nothing.

The massive man turned, to give chase to Jaune.

He leapt across the broken square, and closed the gap between in almost no time at all.

Jaune once more dived out of the way, his speed propelling him onto the main thoroughfare of the village even as Rainart's attack further fractured the already shattered square.

Keeping his knees bent and his upper body close to the ground, Jaune made a conscious effort to keep his centre of gravity low, all the better to accelerate in any given direction at a moment's notice.

Rainart was relentless; with another lunge forward, his fist closed in on Jaune's face.

With a shift of his body, Jaune kicked off once more, darting beyond reach down a narrow alleyway.

He was getting better at this – the trick, such as it were, was to go neither too early nor too late. Too early, and Jaune risked Rainart being able to adjust the direction of his own lunge – so as to smash right into Jaune while he was still midair and unable to dodge. Too late, and Jaune would – of course – be pulped into the ground.

It was a delicate act, and almost a dance – but one Rainart did not appreciate, if the annoyance on his face was any indication.

With a growl, the man came after Jaune once more.

The narrow alleyway Jaune was in allowed no clever dodges to the side, and Jaune disliked the thought of escaping in a straight line – he would either have to turn to run, and waste precious time in the process; or he would just have to push off in a leaping backstep, despite the biomechanical inefficiency inherent in such a movement.

So instead, Jaune went _up_.

A leap brought him up to the top of the building, where he gripped the edge of the eaves with his left hand to vault onto the sloping red-tiled roof – right before Rainart destroyed the alley below.

A grinding sound alerted Jaune to the fact that something was wrong; and indeed, in less time than he had expected, Rainart was already on the roof.

The man – or so Jaune's mind, working overtime, inferred – had stuck his hands into the ground to halt his own charge, thereby allowing him to change directions and jump upwards more rapidly than he otherwise could have.

Rainart leapt onto the roof, and Jaune was forced into a split second decision.

Given his location, there were limited areas Jaune could seek to dodge to. As in the alleyway, Jaune didn't think much of his chances if he attempted a linear retreat. At the same time, the sloping roof of the building he was on, and of the house next door, limited his movement to both the left and the right, and while he could always make a diagonal jump and take to the skies, that would put him on a steeper trajectory – one that would leave him hanging in the air long enough to make him vulnerable to another charge from Rainart.

That left only one course of action.

Bringing his sword across, and gripping the hilt with his right hand even as his left supported the blade by its flat side on the other end, Jaune braced himself. Marshalling all his will and all his determination, he forced the aura running through his body and his sword to a thrumming tenor, until flesh and steel alike were tough enough to resist a blow that could demolish buildings.

Rainart's right hand swung towards Jaune, his fist impacting Crocea Mors on the flat of its blade –

– and though it felt like a bus had rammed into his aura-less self, Jaune's defence held, with no real damage dealt beyond the pain momentarily felt.

Of course, Jaune was blasted off the roof all the same, and as he careened through the air, he had to flip and manoeuvre so that –

Jaune landed soundly on his feet on the roof of a building across the street.

_Thank the gods._

He had been confident, but it was always hard to judge such things. As it turned out, his judgement was on point, and his strategy sound. His mastery of aura gave him sufficient durability to guard against the initial blow from Rainart, while the secondary danger – of being smashed, helplessly, into a building – was mitigated so long as the fight was on the rooftops.

Up here, there was nothing but space, and being sent flying was less a cost and more a benefit, in helping to keep a healthy distance with his powerful enemy.

The downside to all this, however, was that Rainart was given the chance to close in again. During the time that Jaune was taking his semi-controlled tumble through the air, Rainart had jumped down from the first building, bounded across the street, and leapt up to the roof Jaune was on.

His fist came rushing in once more, and Jaune was forced to block, once more.

Concentrating his aura upon defence, Jaune took the blow upon flat of his sword once more.

His arms and chest trembled from the effort, and his shoulders felt like they would break, but again he withstood the attack well enough to avoid injury.

Blown back, Jaune transitioned into a somersault, but –

He landed, awkwardly, his feet barely catching reaching the edge of the rooftop and letting him slide back, safe and unharmed; had Rainart's blow been any weaker, he would have been smashed into the eaves of the eaves and got his back broken.

_I can't count on a roof landing._

He realized that much, but Rainart was on him once more, racing forward with fist raised.

Said fist was successfully blocked by Jaune's sword yet again, shoulder-splitting pain notwithstanding, and for the third time in short order, Jaune found himself violently sent flying.

Careful not to misjudge the distance, Jaune spun hid body round in time so –

Feet first, Jaune landed horizontally upon the side of wall, before gravity asserted itself, and pulled Jaune towards the ground, where he landed in a low crouch.

A irate Rainart, his massive chest and shoulders heaving with exertion, was bounding forward to meet him.

"Stand and fight, boy!"

That was, indeed, the plan.

The last few exchanges had made Jaune remember one very important fact – that for all a huntsman's extraordinary strength, they were only human, and didn't weigh very much at all. Even if force could not harm someone like Hazel Rainart, it could push him around, and even keep him off balance.

Raihart came in with a straight punch, and even as the sight of the man's fist began filling up Jaune's whole field of vision, he managed to dodge to the side – barely, and by inches.

Simultaneously, Jaune let go of the hilt of his sword, and instead began holding his weapon with both hands gripping the blade.

With his fingers pressed down tight on the flat of the blade – so that the sharp edge never touched his flesh – Jaune used his sword like a warhammer, with the crossguard as the weighted head.

With a short jump onto Rainart's back to give him a better angle of attack, Jaune swung both his hands around and down, to bring his makeshift warhammer crashing down on the back of Rainart's head.

"Ngh!"

The blow staggered the bigger man, and Jaune was quick to take advantage.

Dropping back down on the ground, Jaune went low, sweeping his weapon from left to right, and smashing Rainart in the side of his knee.

"Urgh!"

The man stumbled, and almost fell.

Twisting around, Jaune went three for three.

Crocea Mors swept upwards, to hit Rainart below his right armpit.

"Argh!"

The force of the blow, and Rainart's already uncertain footing, made the man topple.

For good measure, Jaune went for the crystal on his right arm, hoping to knock it loose.

Jaune thought the crystal might have shifted, just a bit, but it could easily have been his imagination. Meanwhile, any remaining euphoria from successfully knocking Rainart to the ground evaporated, as the man's anger boiled over.

"Enough!"

With a roar, the man stumbled back onto his feet, before bringing his arms up above his head.

Lightning crackled, which was all the warning Jaune got.

Rainart swung his colossal arms down and into the ground.

_! ! !_

Thunder boomed, as the street _disintegrated_ under the raw force of Rainart's blow Jaune leapt back as fast as he could, but it was not quick enough to escape the flying fragments of rock, nor the dust cloud billowing out.

Aura protected him from the minor cuts that the rock splinters would otherwise have caused, but aura didn't protect against poison, and Jaune had to made a conscious effort not breathe in the toxic dust, as he beat a hasty retreat.

Soon enough, and with some relief, he escaped the expanding cloud, within which seeing was impossible and breathing was death.

However, an ominous cracking noise emanated from inside the cloud, even as the ground shook, and though Jaune could not see what Rainart was doing, he had some suspicions – which meant it was time to run.

Turning, Jaune raced down the street, to give himself distance and time for when –

_Incoming._

His aura sense provided his first and only warning, and with a desperate dive to the right, Jaune saved himself in the nick of time, as a giant slab of concrete ripped by, passing through the very spot he occupied not a second ago.

He needed to get off this straight line of a road, where he was but a sitting duck.

Scrambling, he bolted down a narrow alleyway, so as to get to the next road and to put a line of houses between him and Rainart.

At the same time, pushing his senses to their limits, and beyond, Jaune fought to detect any fast-moving, aura-infused object launched in his direction.

That was the one advantage he had. Whenever Rainart was tearing things out of the ground to throw at him, the man needed to infuse the material with his aura, so as to enhance its durability and prevent it from disintegrating under his own strength. Otherwise, all he would be doing would be ripping finger-shaped holes in things.

However, that same infusion of aura meant the object was detectable by a sufficiently keen aura sense, thus allowing –

Jaune dodged once more, the street to his side exploding as a lamp post speared into it.

– evasion such as this.

Rainart was, Jaune could sense, currently on the roof of a nearby building, having used that as a vantage point from which to attempt to snipe Jaune.

And as Jaune dashed down yet another alleyway, to get back to the main thoroughfare, he felt Rainart following.

The man's aura was a raging, roiling thunderstorm, the dust crystals infused into his body providing an unmistakeable elemental temper to the outward manifestation to his soul.

It was apposite, in many ways, for in this game of cat and mouse, Jaune really did feel he was running more from a natural disaster than from a man.

Throwing himself to the side, Jaune let a whole, uprooted tree pass by. It showered leaves and dirt as it flew past, while a branch almost clipped him on the head.

Rainart was, like him, on the main thoroughfare now, and giving chase relentlessly.

Not wanting any more near misses like with that tree branch, Jaune decided to stick to this tree-free road. And while there were plenty of lamp posts for Rainart to rip out of the ground and launch at him, their sleek and narrow profile meant side-stepping them was far less complex a challenge.

The chase proceeded in this fashion – Jaune ran and Rainart pursued, with every second or so seeing another pillar of metal launched forward at murderous speeds.

There was no room for mistakes, no margin for error.

Duck, dodge. Evade, elude. Weave, whirl, twist, _twirl_.

Jaune moved like the wind, first here, then there; he was at once everywhere and nowhere, always moving, never stopping.

He danced at edge of life and death, and with every near miss came the increasingly certainty that he was never going to be hit.

Jaune's chest burnt, worse than ever, but he was lost in the flow of the chase, and the more he pushed his worn and damaged body, the more his exhaustion seemed to dissipate, and the less his pain seemed to even matter.

The chase took them down empty streets, the villagers having evacuated to the shelters at the village centre – a fact Jaune was grateful for, since Rainart's aim was not always true, and here and there walls caved in and buildings collapsed under the impact of the improvised steel javelins.

The chase eventually left the outskirts of the village, passing the very gym Jaune was just using earlier that evening – a time that felt like an eternity ago.

It was when they were about to reach the historic village centre, however, that Rainart's fury drove him to shout –

"Fight me like a man, Jaune Arc! Or the Grimm will return for yet another attack!"

That stopped Jaune short.

Sliding to a stop, he faced down his opponent.

Rainart was panting hard, not unlike Jaune himself.

The man was showing his age, and seeing one's ostensibly invincible enemy do something as unflatteringly human as struggle to draw breath – well, that gave Jaune hope.

He himself was in no great shape, of course, what with his shattered ribs, and the exhaustion incurred from having fought non-stop since the emergency sirens split the air earlier.

What really worried him, however, was –

"What do you mean, the Grimm will return?"

Shadows seemed to pool on Rainart's face, as he furrowed his brow; and with grave seriousness, he said,

"My Queen wants your head. If you refuse to fight me, then she will take matters into her own hands, and command the Grimm to destroy this village and everyone in it."

Rainart's words made Jaune's face twist with incredulity.

_Impossible._

It was one thing to rile up the Grimm and lead them to a village, as Jaune suspected Rainhart had done – both to Domremy then, and Rothenburg now. It was another thing entirely, to command the Grimm outright – the idea of such a semblance existing...

Shaking his head, Jaune said,

"That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. No one controls the Grimm. Are you mad, or merely lying?"

Rainart looked impassive.

"Neither. My mistress is the immortal Queen of the Grimm. She is a thousand miles away, but even here, she is watching."

Jaune was unable to help himself. A scornful laugh escaped his lips, and he scoffed –

"Spare me your fantasies, Rainart."

The man did not look bothered by Jaune's disbelief, as he asked,

"How do you think I caused the attack on this village? Or on yours?"

Rainart mentioning those two instances of his perfidy caused Jaune's hate to surge back up. Even so, he answered –

"Riling up the Grimm and drawing them to the village? There are a dozen better explanations of how you did what you did, compared to thinking that there exists some goddess who controls the Grimm."

The big man shrugged his massive shoulders, and said,

"Fine. Let's say that then. If you refuse fight me, I'll go out and draw more Grimm to the village."

Upon hearing this, Jaune hissed. Unlike Rainart's earlier, fantastical pronouncements, this was a very real threat.

Jaune's reaction did not go unnoticed by Rainart, who went on to say,

"No one else needs to die today, Jaune Arc. Only you. Fight me, man to man, and I promise you I will spare the village. Whatever else you believe, know that I didn't want innocents to die needlessly."

That last sentence almost made Jaune choke from all the hypocrisy. Derision and detestation colouring his voice, Jaune sneered –

"Oh yes, and that's why you lured the Grimm to the village? Killed the local huntsmen? Murdered Pyrrha, skewered Blake?"

His voice rose to a roar towards the end, his anger no longer contained.

Rainart shook his head. He was melancholic, but not apologetic, as he replied,

"There was no way for me to kill you without first getting rid of those strong enough to interfere. And there was no way to do that without the Grimm attack distracting and isolating all of you. But now? The civilians need not die. Fight me, Arc, and this will be over, one way or the other."

Jaune spat on the ground – an uncharacteristic act of impoliteness brought on by the sheer hatred he felt for this man and his self-serving justifications.

"What are you even in this for, Rainart? All these machinations, and all this murder – and for what? How can you pretend to give a shit about the lives of others, if you're helping the Grimm destroy villages?"

His question was asked in fury, and Jaune didn't expect an answer; but answer Rainart did, anyway.

"Vengeance, boy, same as what you seek against me. When my Queen comes into her kingdom, I will spend every day, all day, killing Ozpin over and over again, until finally the blood debt is paid."

_Ozpin?_

That the ruthless headmaster had his enemies didn't surprise Jaune, but this talk of killing Ozpin repeatedly made no sense – which was par the course, Jaune supposed, for an apparent Grimm cultist who though the monsters ruled by some Queen.

And did not the Mistralians have a saying?

_Before you embark on a journey for vengeance, first dig two graves._

Revenge was going to get Rainart killed one day, Jaune knew. It was the way of the world – others he hurt for the sake of slaking his hatred would seek vengeance in turn.

Jaune, of course, was amongst their number, and he was more than eager to help put Rainart six feet under.

The real question was whether he ought to continue out-manoeuvring Rainart to wear him down, or to fight him head on.

The former was the optimal strategy, but the latter seemed necessary. While Jaune did not believe the man's promise that he would leave the village alone if Jaune fought him head on, he took the man's threat to instigate a second Grimm attack seriously enough.

_Direct confrontation it is._

Jaune brought Crocea Mors up, an act that made Rainart nod in approval and tense his own massive muscles, as the two began to size the other up.

_Am I strong enough, to beat Rainart?_

Jaune posed himself that question, and the blunt and honest answer was _no_.

_So how do I get strong enough?_

The trivial answer was that he needed a greater mastery of aura – so he could fight Rainart on even ground, and match strength with strength.

_But how do I improve my aura mastery to the level of a Champion in the next few seconds, after a month and a half of training achieving no such thing?_

Aura was the manifestation of the soul, and in its potency, it was dictated by strength of will and what a heart desired.

Some believed that revenge was the best motivator. Others valued the prideful hunger to become the greatest fighter. And yet others thought love and the desire to protect was the most powerful force in the world.

Hundreds of meters away, at the edge of Jaune's senses, he could feel an all too familiar aura signature start moving this way. Nonetheless, he ignored it.

_Revenge?_

It was a powerful motivation indeed, and Jaune wanted nothing more than to avenge his family and his friends. And yet –

– here was Hazel Rainart, standing before him, a living testament to the folly of drinking the devil's draught, and resorting to means so dark one became the monster you fought.

Jaune was not, in that moment, so lost to reason that he could give himself over, fully and unreservedly, to the cause of vengeance; indeed, he did that in the village square, and what did that achieve, except near-broken aura and pulverized ribs that even now made it hard to breathe?

Jaune twitched in discomfort, as the aura signature to his rear continuing moving towards where he and Rainart were. Still, he ignored it.

_Pride? Hunger? The desire to be the world's greatest swordsman and fighter?_

Jaune's fondest wish as a child had been to emulate his great-great-grandfather, and become a god of the sword with skill incomparable. And yet –

– could one really fight a battle to death for so shallow a reason, and for so selfish a motive?

The strength he sought now was for the sake of protecting others, and the idea that he could fight Rainart for glory was laughable; Jaune was not that sort of person, as the emptiness he felt after slaying the Necrovalock made evident.

The aura signature was closing in, and Jaune could ignore it no longer.

It was Weiss, her aura a brilliant wintry white, harsh and cold on the outside, but hiding a blazing warmth beneath.

She was done defeating whatever Grimm had been harassing the north side of the village, and was obviously making a beeline for him. And once she arrived, she would – without doubt – come to his aide.

She would help fight Rainart – and in so doing, she would lose her life.

A low, guttural sound escaped Jaune's throat.

_I'll __**never**__ let you die._

And there he had his answer.

With a titanic infusion of purpose, Jaune's will sharpened to a keening edge.

And so his soul ordered, and thus the world obeyed.

His aura flared, into a radiance beyond sun and celestial light.

Power as he had never felt entered his body – power enough to see this fairytale out to its rightful end; the monster slain, and the princess saved.

The smell of ozone was in the air – Rainart was making his move.

Jaune could feel it too; the lightning, as it flowed from the dust crystals into Rainart's arms and –

The man _punched_, and Jaune was already on the move, disappearing in a blur of speed to the side as a thunderbolt scoured the space where he once was standing.

The street behind him exploded, the sheer, surpassing power of the lightning melting concrete and blowing splinters of molten rock everywhere.

Rainart's left arm was outstretched, and sparks still trailed from his fist, a by-product of the powerful electrical discharge he had just unleashed.

The man was overextended, and in no place to dodge or make an immediate follow-up attack – and so Jaune lunged in, bringing his sword crashing down on the dust crystal embedded into the hulking man's left arm.

The crystal shuddered, but did not immediately fall –

– and there was no time for a second strike, as Rainart was twisting around, a roar on his lips, and roar erupting from his fist –

Thunder once more echoed in the empty village, and Jaune was forced to dive low and to his left.

Lightning tore through the position he vacated, and struck the building behind.

Doors were blown in, windows shattered, walls collapsed, and the roof set afire.

Ignoring the immense destruction, Jaune sprang up from his roll, and slashed at the dust crystal on Rainart's right arm.

Like its lateral counterpart, it shuddered, but did not instantly fall loose.

Again, Rainart gave no space for a follow-up, for the man pivoted about, his left fist rushing in –

Jaune darted down to the right and out of the way, as a third lightning bolt lit up the night sky.

The house on the other side of the street exploded, leaving only rubble and a spreading fire.

With a shout of exertion, Jaune brought Crocea Mors down with all the weight of his body behind it.

The slash knocked free the dust crystal embedded into Rainart's arm; and, crimson with blood, it fell to the ground.

Rainart roared – though not with pain, so much as rage. The wound on his arm, where the crystal had previously been stabbed, seemed to start healing at an impossible pace.

And right at the same time –

"Jaune!"

_Weiss._

She had finally arrived, and the moment of truth was here.

Rainart, for all his brawn, was no fool, and his berserker's style of combat did not preclude low cunning or the ruthless exploitation of an opening.

He swung his right arm, lightning crackling all over it and promising destruction as never before seen.

With Weiss right behind and in the line of fire, Jaune could not dodge or dance away – as Rainart well knew.

With one hand on the blade and another holding the hilt, Jaune brought his sword up so the flat of the blade faced Rainart, ready to block any blow.

Jaune then braced himself, and bent his very being, his very soul, towards the singular objective of defending himself and the girl he had somehow come to like, to –

– to love.

Divine lightning burst forth from Rainart's fist, and mortal steel was there to meet it.

_! ! !_

The resulting thunderclap shattered every window on the street, just as the lightning's heat melted the road beneath their feet.

But –

– but the steel held true, and it was the lightning that had to yield.

The bolt was split in two, one stream of lightning arcing off to destroy the line of houses on the right, the other surging into the ground and obliterating what was left of the road.

With a roar, Jaune pushed the shocked man's hand away, and then smashed the remaining dust crystal off his right arm.

Like the life had gone out of it, the air itself seemed to stopped crackling, and with that Rainart's monstrous strength vanished in the wind.

He was human, at last.

And like any human, he would find it quite fatal to be stabbed in the heart.

Jaune Arc moved without hesitation, and without mercy, to thrust his blade between the bigger man's ribcage until it came out the other side.

His lips moving soundlessly, Hazel Rainart collapsed to his knees.

The sword thrummed in Jaune's hand, the organ it pierced making it quiver to its now-irregular beat – a beat that also began slowing almost immediately.

Rainart's aura seemed to fight frenetically to heal the grievous injury, but it wasn't enough – not with the blade still embedded within his heart. Blood flowed freely from the wound on his chest, pouring down in a cascade, and staining Jaune's sword and arms and indeed his whole body from torso to feet.

Hazel Rainart's eyes were unfocused, but when a spasm of his chest moved him to cough up blood, he seemed to regain some semblance of lucidity.

As he trained his eyes on Jaune's, the big man – his father's old friend – used what remained of his strength to say,

"You are... a fool... boy. Ozpin... will kill you... and the girl... too."

Even at a stage so close to death, the man didn't seem to be in pain; or at least, he didn't seem bothered by it. Even so, his once prodigious strength had leaked away, and he struggled to speak in complete his sentences.

"If you want... the truth... take... my scroll... look for... Watts – guh!"

Rainart gave a half-choke, half-gasp, before taking in a ragged intake of breath. Then, something seemed to draw his attention, for his eyes jerked upwards, to scan the empty sky above; and at the same time, his left hand moved, which compelled Jaune to glance down warily, for fear of an attack.

However, the dying man only raised his hand, to twitch one finger upwards.

"Salem... only salvation... do you not... _feel_... her presence?"

Jaune frowned.

"What are you talking –"

His words died on his tongue.

A small jellyfish-like creature had descended from the darkness above, to hover behind Rainart, just beyond the reach of Jaune's sword.

_Seer._

He hadn't seen it, out there in the black of night, and somehow hadn't sensed it via his aura either – and even now, where the Grimm ought to have been an unmistakeable mass of pulsing darkness, all Jaune could feel from it was a void defined by utter nothingness.

And small though it was, the creature was dangerous. As best as humanity could tell, the Seer could communicate with other Grimm, and coordinate attacks in a manner utterly devastating.

He needed to kill it, that was for sure.

However, Jaune was left in a bind. Having seen Rainart's regenerative abilities, he didn't dare pull his sword out of the man's body until he was well and truly dead. The Grimm, therefore...

"Weiss! Some help here! Grimm, a Seer, twelve o'clock from me!"

Weiss had been circling around the spot where Jaune and Rainart were, to get a better line of attack on the bigger man were he to continue the fight; and thus far, she kept her silence, seemingly afraid of distracting Jaune at so delicate a moment.

However, with his shout, she sprang into action.

"Coming!"

But faster than Weiss could move, and faster even than Jaune could scream, the Seer struck, its tentacle snaking out to –

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_Jaune was in the air. He was a Nevermore, wings outstretched, soaring through the sky, far above the pesky humans and their horrible emotions._

_It was then, however, that a nuisance entered the range of his senses. A large bullhead roared through the air, racing for destinations unknown._

_Hate, black and vicious as the pools of darkness from whence he was born, boiled up unprompted from within Jaune. Circling around, he used his keen avian eye to examine his potential prey. There was a strange star-shaped scar on the top of bullhead – a mark, that one of Jaune's brethren had once tried and failed to destroy this human craft._

_That, and the powerful aura signature on board – a heady mix of apathy and despair and intoxication – made Jaune wary enough to wheel away._

_Jaune watched it pass in peace, and –_

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_Jaune was drowning, before he was not. Gasping, he pulled himself out of these pools of darkness that were his mother's womb, and strode upon four legs out onto the world. He was a newborn Beowolf, and all around, his pack mates were doing the same as him – crawling out of the mud of creation and shaking themselves dry._

_The land he found himself in was familiar, yet strange. All around, jagged rocks and promontories erupted from the ground, and crystals of gravity dust were omnipresent. The sky, meanwhile, was overcast with dark red clouds – here, it was never day, but ever the night._

_To the north, a castle stood, tall and proud. A strange reverence took hold of Jaune, and he bowed. __**She**__ lived there, he knew. She who was Mother, Queen, __**Goddess**__ of the Grimm –_

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_He was Jaune, just Jaune, and he was too confused to feel fear._

_"Where am I?"_

_He wasn't in Rothenburg. He wasn't anywhere he recognized, whether Domremy or Vale or Beacon. He wasn't sure he was even on Remnant._

_He was in a large, grand chamber, its tall windows to the sides allowing sight of a blood-red sky._

"_You are in my castle, child."_

_Relieved to hear a fellow human voice, Jaune turned._

_Then, he wished her hadn't._

_Upon her violet throne, there sat a monster with skin and hair white as bone, and with a veins-laced face and eyes black as shadow._

_Jaune's mouth moved, but speech was impossible._

_His reason, unfortunately, was still working sufficiently that he could make the obvious logical connection._

"_You're Hazel's mistress. The immortal Queen of the Grimm."_

_Accompanying that realization was a terror so absolute it was like the light had gone out of the world. It choked him; stabbed his stomach in phantom pain; made his hands tremble, and his legs quiver. And right then, it seemed like the darkness would be forever._

_The monster – no, the woman, or so Jaune's brain insisted, if only to keen himself sane and to reality teetered – spoke,_

"_Indeed, child. We have little time to speak, so I shall be brief. If you ever find that service to Ozpin brings naught but grief, you are welcome to join me and mine."_

_Jaune's terror froze in place, so confused was he._

_Almost as if she were reading his mind, Salem smiled, kindly and without deceit,_

"_I am not a monster, child, no matter how I might look. For all intents and purposes, I am human, same as you._

"_And I want the same things you do._

"_A world at peace, Jaune Arc; a world without suffering; a world without orphans, where every child has their parents, and parents, their children. Such a world is within reach, if you will but help me. Take my hand; and be the hero you were always meant to be."_

_She extended one pale white hand, and –_

"ARGH!"

Jaune screamed, as pain and agony greeted his return to reality.

"Jaune!"

Weiss's voice was almost unrecognizable, what with his head feeling like red-hot spikes had been driven straight through his skull.

"Stand aside, Weiss!"

From his position on the ground, Jaune struggled to look up, and to look through the flowing blood and oozing black liquid covering his entire head. The latter he managed to recognize as the remnants of the Seer, even with pain addling his wits.

As he stumbled to his feet, and brought his arms up to flounder at and wipe away the muck on his face, he managed to catch a glimpse of who else was around.

There was a poorly-shaven man who smelt of booze, and some woman who looked like Weiss.

On account of the anguish burning up his head, it took Jaune slightly longer than usual to identify the newcomers.

_Qrow Branwen and Winter Schnee_, his mind supplied.

The former's aura signature was awfully, terrifyingly familiar, for a man he just met –

– but then Jaune put two and two together, when he saw what was behind Branwen and the elder Schnee.

A large bullhead had landed haphazard-wise on the road, the main thoroughfare of Rothenburg being wide enough to accommodate vehicles of that size.

_I have to know._

High on pain, and drunk with terror, Jaune stumbled forward.

"Jaune! Calm down!"

Weiss's panicked words were left unheeded, as Jaune pushed forth.

Branwen stepped aside, his face unreadable. The elder Schnee took a step back too, but for her, the wariness was clear.

Jaune managed to get his act sufficiently together to walk without falling – which allowed him to stride, with increasing consternation, towards the bullhead.

_It was a dream, right? Just some hallucination from the Seer?_

Upon reaching the bullhead, Jaune stopped short.

His aura was broken, and his physical body too exhausted to do anything as onerous as scale the side of a bullhead.

Trying to shake away the pulsating pain hammering into his head again and again, he turned to Weiss.

"Weiss. I need a platform glyph, to bring me to the top of the bullhead. I need to see its roof. _Please_."

He knew he wasn't explaining himself well; he knew he wasn't explaining anything, at all.

Weiss complied all the same; she was humouring him, Jaune knew, as the worry and distress on her face made clear.

A shining Schnee glyph appeared before them, and Jaune stepped onto it –

– and almost falling, but for Weiss reaching out to steady him.

"Careful, Jaune..."

"... thank you."

She let him lean on her, even as she levitated the two of them up to the bullhead's roof.

The sight that greeted them was –

– a strange, star-shaped scar.

Jaune's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.

"Jaune!"

Weiss's voice did not reach him.

_That scar was there._

The pain in the head was worse than ever, but it seemed hardly to bother him anymore.

His mind worked just fine, and with every act of logical reasoning performed, and with every inference to the best explanation made, he came one step closer to absolute despair.

The existence of Salem – this immortal Queen of the Grimm – explained why he had experienced what he experienced via the Seer, and saw her in that castle under the blood-red sky. If she didn't exist, he wouldn't have experienced what he did – after all, it couldn't have been a mere hallucination; the strange star-shaped scar on top of the bullhead proved he truly saw, as a Nevemore, Branwen's bullhead flying to Rothenburg and that, more broadly, what he saw through the Seer was very real indeed. The fact that he saw Salem, and heard her speak – it was proof she existed, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

And other facts only corroborated this. Rainart's testimony, in particular – why would the man claim so mad a thing, unless he knew her, or even met her, as Jaune did?

Jaune's own memory from his youth, too, was another nail in the coffin – why else was his father and Rainart talking of this _Queen_, who could engineer Grimm attacks on the village, except that she truly existed?

All these, separately, might have been dismissed, and accounted for with alternative explanations. But together, the mass of evidence was undeniable – evil had a mistress, and an immortal Queen of the Grimm existed.

Jaune stopped fighting the exhaustion and the despair.

Letting darkness swallow him whole, he fell into a deep slumber.

In it, the Grimm attacked as an inexhaustible tide, in an endless nightmare from which even waking was no respite.

-(=RWBY=)-

A/N: This marks the end of the story's first arc. I'll be taking a few weeks off for real life stuff, and to plan out the next part of the story.


	11. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow I

.

-(=RWBY=)-

**Queen of Air and Darkness  
**Chapter 2  
_City of Light and Shadow_

-(=RWBY=)-

For Pyrrha Nikos's death, the sky itself wept.

The rain came down in cascading sheets, in a torrent as endless as grief.

Jaune Arc was drenched to the bone, and for all that he was surrounded by friends and fellow mourners, he had never felt so alone.

For the funeral of his partner, Jaune had been permitted the honour of a seat on the front row, alongside Pyrrha's bereaved family. To his left, across the aisle, Alexander and Helen Nikos stood in stoic silence, even as the former's clenched fists and the latter's rain-washed tears betrayed the true extent of their heartbreak and misery.

To Jaune's right, meanwhile, where his team ought to have been, there were only empty chairs.

Weiss Schnee was gone, spirited away to Atlas, called back by her father, and on a mission for Ozpin besides.

Blake Belladonna was lying comatose in a hospital bed, barely alive, and even now it was unclear whether she would survive.

And as for Pyrrha –

Her body rested atop the unlit funeral pyre not ten meters away; clad in magnificent armour of crimson-and-gold, and with her right hand grasping Miló and her left hand holding Akoúo̱, his partner was resplendent even in death.

She died as she lived, glorious and brave –

_But dead is dead, and glory imperishable is not a fair trade. Not for me, not for her family, and not for Pyrrha Nikos especially._

Jaune felt numb. His hate had burnt itself out in Rothenburg, during that desperate fight against Hazel Rainart. Sorrow, meanwhile, was beyond him, too exhausted as he was to even grieve. Instead, he felt empty; he _was_ empty, a void in his heart and a hole in the world where once there was his partner.

It was strange, in so many ways; he hadn't even known Pyrrha for that long, and when his partner was alive he would never have thought her death would hit him so hard.

Yet her passing crushed him, all the same. Somewhere along the line, his team had become a part of his life – so much so that the absence of his partner only called forth a screaming wrongness, with her death a loss Jaune would give anything to revert.

An impossibility, of course.

Jaune could vaguely remember some old poetry his sister Saphron used to love; the lines came back now, clear and harrowing.

_The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a single word of it._

Jaune would have wept, but he was too familiar to loss and tragedy do something like that.

In accordance with the ancient funeral traditions of western Mistral that the Nikos family still kept to, athletic games had been held earlier that day in honour of the deceased warrior. Ruby had won the foot-race, and Nora the weightlifting, and while Jaune had acquitted himself well enough by participating in and sweeping the single combat tournament, his heart hadn't been in it. Indeed, with his mind so overwhelmed – both with the truth, and with what Ozpin was asking of him – he would gladly have sat out these meaningless games, had the headmaster not reminded him that his absence would have been a grave insult, to Pyrrha's proud and honour-obsessed family.

Of course, they hated him anyway. As the day drew to a close, and as the headmaster stood in front of the assembled mourners to give a final funeral oration extolling Pyrrha and the heroic sacrifices demanded of a huntress, he could feel the loathing for him wafting over from Pyrrha's extended family. Even worse, however, were the cold, hard stares from his Beacon schoolmates boring holes into his back.

Jaune did not blame them; he _could_ not blame them. Of Rothenburg, and what happened there, they only knew what Ozpin told them, and what Ozpin told them was as far from the truth as the sun was from the moon.

The necessity of the lie rankled him, but Jaune tamped down on his resentment; his pride and personal hang-ups mattered not in the least, when weighed against the threat that was the Queen of the Grimm.

That made Jaune think back – again, and always – to the enormity of the task that Ozpin had recently laid upon his shoulders. It was a burden he had to bear alone, too, and it was only his greater terror at failure that let him not balk at the horror that Ozpin was asking of him as a favour.

The headmaster knew how to choose his tools well, Jaune had to admit. How could he say no, after all he'd seen?

_**In his nightmares, Jaune dreamt of a darkness without a dawn.**_

_**The Grimm came, ferocious monsters all, innumerable as the stars and just as unending.**_

_**Jaune fought them, of course, his shining silver sword cutting a swath through the beasts, but for every one that fell another two took its place.**_

_**And at last, Jaune's vaunted skill failed him; he missed one strike, and the enemy Beowolf pounced upon him.**_

_**Its fellows followed, and in no time at all Jaune found himself dogpiled by a dozen snarling monsters, whose claws were daggers, and whose fangs were swords.**_

_**Jaune couldn't move, couldn't breathe.**_

_**Help me.**_

_**He prayed. Desperately, as Jaune struggled against his fate, he begged for anyone and anything to lend him aid.**_

_**But in the end, neither gods nor men answered his cries for help.**_

_**Except a single solitary soul – his own.**_

_**A memory that was not his came, unbidden, to mind.**_

_**Maid. Martyr. Saint. Saviour.**_

_**Joan of Arc was tied to the stake, and wreathed in fire, but she did not burn in the least. The world, however, did, as all around her, creation was reduced to ash and cinder.**_

_**Fire was in her blood, and in his.**_

_**Jaune Arc breathed in, and then out. And while it was air that entered, it was fire that he expelled.**_

_**! ! !**_

_Jaune awoke._

_He was in the Beacon medical centre, and his bed was afire._

"_Jaune!"_

_Weiss had been dozing off on a chair by his bedside, but the moment the fire started she was awake and alert, with Myrtenaster_ _already drawn. A whirling noise signalled the cycling of the chamber in her multi-action dust rapier, and once her ice dust was primed and in position, she flourished._

_A blast of icy wind exploded from her blade, and instantly extinguished the spreading flames._

_It was at that moment that a nurse burst into the room, summoned by the commotion._

"_Miss Schnee! What is going on here? Explain yourself!"_

_Weiss spared the nurse a disdainful glance, before giving a curt explanation._

"_Your patient just triggered his semblance, and almost burnt himself alive. I saved him, though perhaps that would not have been necessary, if the medical staff at this establishment had been doing their job, and watching their patients."_

_The nurse reddened, and snapped,_

"_That's enough of your cheek, Miss Schnee –"_

_Jaune was groggy, and far from lucid, but he managed to remember the only thing that mattered._

_**Salem.**_

"_Weiss."_

_Jaune interrupted the nurse just as she was about to reprimand his teammate. He would ordinarily not have been so discourteous, but given the stakes, civility was as important to him as having nipples on his breastplate._

"_We have to see the headmaster. Ozpin needs to know everything that happened at Rothenburg."_

_Even as he said that, Jaune was sliding off the bed –_

– _except a sudden fit of dizziness overcame him, and he almost fell, but for Weiss reaching out and holding him up._

"_Jaune, you need to rest. Rothenburg is safe. You killed Rainart, and after your collapse, Qrow Branwen and my sister drove off whatever Grimm remained. Blake's alive, too, though Pyrrha... she's..."_

_Jaune knew what Weiss was about to say._

"_Pyrrha's dead. I know."_

_The words were hard to say. Acknowledging the fact of Pyrrha's death somehow – absurdly, irrationally, unreasonably – made it feel like he was condoning it._

_As for Blake – he had thought her dead, but that was clearly a mistake, and one he was overwhelmingly relieved to have made. He supposed it was not too implausible that, between her near-death state and his own emotional turmoil, he had failed to sense her aura signature at the village gate._

_Jaune shook his head. It was good that Blake was alive, but he had to focus. The dizziness having passed, he extricated himself from Weiss, to stand on his own two feet. His ribs still hurt, badly, from Rainart's hammer blow to his chest, but there was nothing to do but grit his teeth and bear it. _

"_Mr Arc."_

_The nurse chose that moment to interject._

"_The headmaster did leave a request that you meet him in his office immediately upon waking."_

_Weiss's eyes sharpened to flints, and she said, dangerously,_

"_And you countenance that, even if your patient is clearly still injured and unwell?"_

_The nurse looked uncomfortable; Weiss's words had clearly cut deep, and she herself did not seem too enamoured with the headmaster prioritizing operational needs over the health of his students._

"_Weiss. I can rest after we speak to Ozpin. Come on."_

_His friend frowned, her scar scrunching up as she did, and she replied,_

"_If you collapse again, I'll bring you back here, and freeze you to your bed."_

_Jaune gave a small smile._

"_Deal."_

_After sending a short message to Ozpin, telling the man that Jaune was awake and on his way to his office, Jaune began slipping his feet into his shoes at the foot of the bed, before strapping Crocea Mors – which Weiss handed to him – to his waist._

_It was only then that he – belatedly – realized he had just unlocked his semblance, the trauma from his nightmares seemingly forcing the power within his soul to materialize._

_Ordinarily, this would have been a momentous achievement, and one worth celebrating – but right now, Jaune had more important things to care about; nor could he shake off his bitterness, at a power so useless it only came to him after the battle was over._

_**Fat lot of good you were, when Pyrrha was being murdered, and Blake getting skewered.**_

_Jaune began heading out of the door, giving the nurse a nod of acknowledgement as he did so._

_Weiss followed, keeping close to him, her worry that he would keel over very apparent._

"_Relax, Weiss. I'm fine. Rainart only broke some ribs, and the Seer... it just forced some unpleasant visions into my mind, that's all."_

_Weiss's face tightened, and for a terrible moment, Jaune thought she was about to cry._

_Instead, she snapped,_

"_I was worried sick, Arc. The doctors said you were asleep, not comatose, but I feared that even after you awoke... Before you collapsed, you were half-mad and ranting, and I... Seers have driven people mad, don't you understand? Their victims are fine one day, and then on the next..."_

_Jaune could hear the anguish in her voice; and so, on instinct, he took her hand in his, to squeeze it reassuringly._

"_Weiss, I promise you, I'm perfectly sane. A lot of things happened yesterday in Rothenburg, and I need to tell the headmaster. Everything will make sense once I explain them, I swear."_

_His friend looked away, but did not immediately pull her hand away from his._

_Seeing that she had calmed down somewhat, Jaune released her hand, and then, in silence, the two of them made their way from the medical centre to Beacon Tower. _

_In doing so, they passed the library, and crossed the large open area around Beacon Tower. Ordinarily, at this time of day, the school would have been bustling with life, but right now the vast majority of the student body was still on their end of semester training missions, and the school was eerily empty._

_Entering Beacon Tower, and making their way up, Jaune and Weiss traced a familiar path to the headmaster's office._

_Their lift ride up to the floor where Ozpin had his office was a quick one, though the walk to the office itself took longer._

_And at last, they approached their destination._

_Impatient to tell Ozpin the truth he had discovered – a truth he suspected the man already knew – Jaune activated the intercom by the door, and announced,_

"_Headmaster. It's Jaune and Weiss, here to see you."_

_Instantly, an audible click sounded, as the door was unlocked; simultaneously, the headmaster's voice echoed over through the intercom._

"_Mr Arc. Miss Schnee. Do please come in."_

_Jaune pulled open one side of the double doors that served as an entrance to the headmaster's office, and let Weiss enter first before stepping in himself._

"_Good morning, the two of you. I hope you are feeling better, Mr Arc; my apologies for summoning you here so urgently, but some things cannot wait. Please, sit."_

_The headmaster looked tired, and even his usually sharp eyes seemed a tad duller this morning._

_As Jaune and Weiss took their seats, the headmaster put away his scroll, before saying,_

"_Mr Arc, I need you to tell me, fully and to the greatest possible detail, the events you were involved in yesterday."_

_Jaune nodded, before launching into an explanation of what transpired in Rothenburg, mentioning everything and excluding nothing –_

_The day starting out well, with he and Weiss visiting shops, hunting Grimm and having dinner at the inn, where they saw Hazel Rainart – not knowing, then, what madness he had planned._

_Jaune training at the gym, blissfully unaware of the coming storm. The sirens going off, and his mad rush to the village gate, where he found dead huntsmen and the portcullis raised. Fighting the Grimm, first alone, and then with his team, before he had to go off and hunt the Necrovalock by himself – only to return, and find Pyrrha –_

_Jaune almost choked up at that point, but with an effort of will he forced himself to continue._

– _dead and Blake skewered, with Hazel Rainart's arms crimson up to the elbows with their blood. Attacking Rainart, only to get smashed. Getting up, and fighting the man across the village. Standing his ground, at the edge of the historic village centre, and managing to draw out enough strength to best Rainart and stab him in the heart. Being blindsided by the Seer thereafter, and seeing visions of __**her**__. Further investigation and reasoning on his part, which led him to conclude –_

"_This Salem – she exists, headmaster. I saw her with my own two eyes, and the Seer could not have possibly deluded me or made me hallucinate a lie – because I __**checked**__ the top of the bullheads, and found this distinctive star-shaped scar that I saw in one of the visions, and which I could not __**possibly**__ have known about otherwise. And Rainart – he said much the same. And then there was the conversation I heard my father have with Rainart five years ago, about this Queen, only for the village to be attacked by Grimm shortly after. Every piece of evidence points towards there being an immortal Queen of the Grimm, Headmaster Ozpin – no matter how mad it sounds, or how impossible it seems."_

_Jaune finished his long tale, and then waited with bated breath for the response._

_To his side, Weiss looked half-terrified and half-pitying._

_**She thinks I'm mad.**_

_It was what Ozpin thought that counted, however, and there –_

_The headmaster was deep in thought, and long seconds passed, before he seemingly arrived to a decision. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, the man sighed._

"_I would have spared the two of you the terrible burden of this truth, for a few more years at least, but it seems the enemy has left me no choice.."_

_The headmaster steepled his hands, and looked deadly serious._

"_Jaune Arc. Weiss Schnee. I am about to disclose to you the most dangerous secret on Remnant, and I require your utmost discretion. You must never, even under the pain of death, reveal to others what I am about to tell, because if the secret spreads, the world itself will be at risk of annihilation. This is not hyperbole; this is not an exaggeration. If you want to know the truth, swear to me on whatever you hold dear, that you will keep this secret safe."_

_The headmaster's words – grave in content, and said with dangerous conviction – made Jaune feel wary, even as he understood why such secrecy was being demanded. Were the world to learn that an immortal Queen of the Grimm existed, the resulting panic could trigger titan-class Grimm invasions on a global scale – a catastrophe Jaune could barely even begin to imagine._

"_I promise to keep this secret safe, sir... on my honour as a huntsman."_

_Weiss glanced at him, then. She looked far less convinced than him, but with the headmaster's actions implying the truthfulness of Jaune's words, she was far too involved now to let herself to back out._

"_I promise too, headmaster – upon my family's honour."_

_Ozpin nodded, satisfied._

"_Good. To be very blunt – Mr Arc is right. There does exist a woman named Salem, whose power it is to command the Grimm. She resides in the Evernight Castle, on Dragonterre, protected by vast armies of Grimm, while her servants – like the late Hazel Rainart, whom you've met – make mischief upon the wider world. And to further complicate matters, Salem is immortal, with neither sword nor semblance capable of killing her."_

_That final line, about, Salem's immortality, drew a sharp intake of breath from Weiss._

"_**Immortal?**__"_

_The disbelief and the despair leaked from her words into the world, and Jaune – though already aware of this dark truth – found himself beset by a sudden attack of hopelessness; and against his will, he found his fists tightening, in helplessness and impotence._

_The headmaster, however, seemed undaunted._

_Smiling gently, he said,_

"_Despair not, Miss Schnee – nor you, Mr Arc. Tell me, when you decided to become huntsmen and huntresses, did you think you would one day defeat the Grimm?"_

_The question brought Jaune – and Weiss beside him – up short._

_And as realization dawned on him, so too did hope spring anew._

_Weiss, having come to the same conclusion, excitedly exclaimed,_

"_No, headmaster! But we can hold them at bay – hold __**her**__ at bay – is that what you're suggesting?"_

_The headmaster gave a firm nod._

"_Precisely, Miss Schnee. We might not be able to kill this Queen, but what of it? As with the Grimm, so with her. It does not matter that such threats cannot be permanently eliminated, so long as they are always contained, and so long as generations after generations of people can live their lives safe and free and happy as can be. Is that not a goal worth fighting for? Indeed, is that not a world we have __**already**__ achieved, and which we need only defend against those who dare threaten it?"_

_The headmaster was animated, much more so than Jaune had ever seen him; and his spirit was infectious, moving both he and Weiss to nod, enthusiastically, and to voice their agreement._

"_That's right!"_

"_Well said, headmaster!"_

_Ozpin was not done, however, and continued by saying,_

"_Moreover, Salem does not stand unopposed. The Champions of Vale, as well as the headmasters of the other Huntsman Academies, are all privy to Salem's existence, and under my leadership, we coordinate our efforts to oppose her."_

_Jaune nodded._

_It was reassuring, that the most powerful people in the world were fighting the problem that was the Queen of the Grimm; and all of a sudden, the burden of knowing of Salem's existence did not feel so crushing._

_Weiss, too, looked vastly heartened; doubtlessly she was reassured by General Ironwood being involved. If nothing else, the man had a reputation for an iron will and incredible competence – a combination much desired in a fight against the Queen of the Grimm._

_Meanwhile, the headmaster had more to say about his peers._

_Tapping his table with two fingers, as if to emphasize his next words, Ozpin said,_

"_It is especially important that the headmasters know the truth, because the Academies are home to the Relics – magical objects of godlike power, each one capable of such feats like making the sky rain fire, or throwing up mountains and gouging out rivers. There are four of these Relics, with each symbolizing a particular concept – creation, destruction, knowledge and choice. And all throughout history, these Relics have been key to the defence of humanity._

"_Two thousand years ago, when humanity was still in its infancy, Salem chose to call upon all the world's Grimm and made open war upon every human settlement on Remnant. A good third of humanity died in those dark days, and yet more would have perished, had the Relic of Destruction not been used to mow down the Grimm in their billions._

"_And when Salem and her servants fed the fires of expansionistic nationalism, and turned the Kingdoms against each other in the Great War, it was the Relics that the Last King of Vale used to quell the violence. Wielding destruction in one hand and creation in the other, the King destroyed the Mistralian and Mantlean armies, and put an end to a war which had already claimed millions of lives."_

_Jaune absorbed all this information in silence. This talk of magical relics would have been hard to swallow – except Jaune had already accepted the existence of an immortal Queen of the Grimm, and once such a thing was admitted, nothing else seemed a bridge too far to believe._

"_All these failures have taught Salem something. She now understands that so long as humanity has the Relics, she will never win; hence, she is conspiring to steal our greatest weapons right out from under us. And while the Relics are hidden in vaults within each Academy, and protected by insurmountable locks and powerful defences, credible reports – coming by way of a defector from Salem's inner circle – suggest that the Queen believes herself on the verge of acquiring the Relics. How she will accomplish this, we do not know – the acquisition of a servant with a teleportation semblance, perhaps, or even a traitor within our ranks. Our need for information is dire, regardless – and that is where you, Mr Arc, come in." _

_Jaune had been absorbed in thought, but upon hearing his name mentioned, he looked up._

"_Me, sir?"_

"_Indeed. Salem expressed interest in recruiting you, and I have a mind to turn that interest against her – by sending you in as a spy, to gain her trust even while you work to thwart her."_

_Jaune was, for the lack of a better word, taken aback – and quickly, he moved to protest._

"_Sir, I don't think I'll be a good spy. I might be clever, but I'm not particularly good at deceiving others."_

_Ozpin dismissed the objection with a wave of his hand._

"_Deception can be learnt. Of greater importance is whether Salem is inclined to accept you – which she is. She was certainly observing your performance against the Necrovalock, and would have – I suspect – pieced together enough of the truth about Domremy to be suitably impressed. As it happens, the Queen is not one for half-measures, and is quite the admirer of ruthlessness."_

_Jaune had stiffened, at the mention of his hometown._

_Weiss was looking at him with concern, but also with some curiosity. She knew part of the truth, but not all of it –_

– _though the same could not be said of Ozpin, who would have been told the full story of Domremy by Goodwitch._

_Even so –_

"_With all due respect, headmaster, Salem killed my family. How is it believable that I would willingly join her, after that?"_

_Ozpin looked untroubled by the point Jaune was raising, and in reply, he said,_

"_Hazel Rainart's sister was killed by the Grimm too, and still he serves Salem – moved, as he is, by a powerful desire of revenge against me. Have no fear – so long as you have a plausible reason for pledging your sword to her, Salem will accept you into her circle._

_Jaune was doubtful._

"_And what reason would that be, sir?"_

_The headmaster smiled, humourlessly._

"_Why, the most human reason there is. Love, in all its magnificence and tragedy. Men have done great and terrible things for it, and why should you be any different? When you establish contact with Salem, you will make this offer – neutrality on your part in the war between the Queen and me, in return for her allowing you and your lover Weiss Schnee to live out your lives in peace."_

_Upon hearing the headmaster's plan, Jaune gave a little cough of embarrassment, while beside him, Weiss made a strangled noise. Unsurprising, she objected to this scheme –_

"_Headmaster, this is a rather flimsy plan, is it not?"_

"_Indeed not. Salem is, shall we say, the romantic sort. She likes men who show love and loyalty to their women, and mislikes those who exhibit faithlessness and indifference. A queer characteristic for the Queen of the Grimm to have, I know, but we all have our eccentricities."_

_The headmaster took hold of his cane, before standing, and starting to pace about._

_He seemed agitated, though for the life of him Jaune could not discern the reason for the headmaster's disquiet._

_The man's voice was pensive, when he went on to say,_

"_Yes, the things we do for love... Your father made much the same choice, Mr Arc. He once worked for me, against the Queen, but after the Domremy Collapse, he took up Salem's offer of peace in return for the Arcs' neutrality. I was disappointed, but not unsympathetic – you were all your father had left, Mr Arc, and he wanted to protect you at all costs."_

_Jaune shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He had no great love for his father, and it had been a half a year since they last spoke. Indeed, they were all but estranged, ever since the Torchwick incident. After Jaune had been plastered all over the news, it was inevitable that his father had learnt of his getting into Beacon; and once that happened, the man was utterly relentless in sending threatening emails and angry messages demanding that Jaune give up the huntsman life and quit Beacon. Jaune had eventually grown tired of this – and had gone as far as blocking the man on his scroll._

_Of course, Jaune had never doubted that his father cared for him, but..._

_**If he can't respect my choice to be a huntsman and to put others before myself, we have nothing to say to each other.**_

_At this juncture, Ozpin had stopped pacing. He took his seat once more, before saying,_

"_But I digress. To return to the point – if you fear that Salem will find your change in loyalties hard to believe, we can give her even more reason to think you have been alienated from me. Events in Rothenburg have yet to become public knowledge, and when we do tell the world what happened there, we can tell them this. That you were hungry for glory, and recklessly went off alone to hunt a Necrovalock – even though your team was struggling against an endless tide of Grimm, and even though there were Grimm cultists at large, ready to ambush and kill your team, as indeed they did."_

_Even before the headmaster was done describing the lie he wanted to put out to the world, Jaune was shaking his head, and laughing – derisively, and in disbelief. Weiss too, looked outraged, and ready to protest. The headmaster, however, held up one hand to forestall any disagreement; and instead, unruffled as ever, he continued outlining his duplicitous scheme._

"_Salem, of course, might wonder why the headmaster of Beacon is willing to throw one of his most promising students under the proverbial bus – but for good or ill, she is always prepared to believe the worst of me. In the aftermath of a near-Collapse, and with so many huntsmen dead, it will be useful to have a individual scapegoat that the public can blame, so that they do not have their faith in the larger system shaken, and so they do not question how such Grimm cultists have been allowed to run amok unchallenged. That being so, Salem would find it eminently plausible that I hung __**you**__, specifically, out to dry. Every other huntsman or huntress involved is dead, and it plays poorly with the public to blame those who died bravely in battle. That leaves only yourself, Miss Schnee and Miss Belladonna – and since shaming your teammates would risk relations with the SDC, Atlas and Menagerie, you are the obvious choice for blame."_

_Jaune was nodding; not in agreement, but in resentful admiration. It was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure to see the headmaster's formidable intellect at work, and to observe his ruthless nature emerge. And while Jaune was the last person to want his good name dragged through the mud, he had to admit – there was a cruel beauty to the headmaster's scheme._

_He was distracted from his ambivalence, however, when Weiss said,_

"_Menagerie?"_

_Jaune winced, suddenly aware of what was coming. The headmaster, heedless of the delicacy of team dynamics, was frank in his answer._

"_You did not know, Miss Schnee? Miss Belladonna's father is the Chieftain of Menagerie."_

_Weiss gave a hiss, her dismay and displeasure clear for all to see._

"_But... that means Blake is a faunus!"_

_Then she turned to Jaune, whose lack of surprise at the revelation spoke volumes._

"_You! You knew, and didn't tell me!"_

_Jaune shrugged, helplessly._

"_I only figured it out by accident. Belladonna's a pretty common surname in Mistral, and I only managed to join the dots because I happened to have been reading a news article about Ghira and Kali Belladonna that day we arrived at Beacon. Blake looks a lot like her mother, and once I noticed their resemblance it was easy to figure out the rest. When I mentioned Menagerie and implied I knew about her heritage, however, she was furious, and made me promise not to tell anyone else... and so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry for that, but it's her secret to tell, and anyway, with everything that's happened, does this still really matter?"_

_Weiss shook her head and looked away._

_Jaune exhaled; this was something he and Weiss had to talk through, later – but for now, there were more pressing matters._

_The headmaster clearly agreed, for he said,_

"_Mr Arc, Miss Schnee, let us not be distracted by trivialities. The issue remains – to thwart Salem's plan to steal the Relics, we sorely need a spy in Salem's inner circle. You, Mr Arc, are the only one who can do this. Once you extend your offer of neutrality to Salem, you will be subject to tests of loyalty, and as you successfully prove to Salem your willing to betray humanity, she will – subtly, but surely – work to bring you around fully to her way of thinking. You will, of course, feign agreement, and eventually swear yourself to her service – putting you in a position to find out how she intends to steal the Relics, and how best we can stop her._

"_I will not deceive you; I will not lie. This task will not merely be dangerous, but dishonourable and heinous. To earn Salem's trust, you will need to aid her evil plans, and harm the innocent rather than protect them._

"_Nonetheless, it is vital you do this, for the world depends upon it."_

_Jaune brought a hand up to massage his temples._

_**For the greater good of the world...**_

_He saw the necessity of it._

_**... but the brutality and the evil...**_

_There were grave doubts he harboured._

_**... Domremy. It always comes back to Domremy.**_

_Jaune laughed, bitterly._

"_I don't have a choice, do I, Professor? I can't give any answer but yes, and you know that. That's why it's me you're asking this of, and not anyone else."_

_The headmaster looked curious._

"_Mr Arc, I confess, your reluctance puzzles me. I would have that thought you of all people would understand the need for sacrifice, and the reality that sometimes salvation comes at a price. You wanted to be a huntsman, and a hero. Well, Mr Arc, here is your chance, the best you will ever get. And if it means dirtying your hands – what of it? Do you want to be a hero, or merely seem like one? If the latter, then admitting you into Beacon was a dreadful mistake. And if the former; well, grit your teeth, do your duty, and remember – that a hero is not some knight in shining armour, but a person who chooses the good of the world over his own personal honour."_

_The headmaster's condescension grated at him, and Jaune snapped –_

"_I understand that, sir__**.**__ Please, spare me the lecture."_

_Standing, Jaune started to pace about; he was too restless and riled up to sit still._

_Weiss was upset, and worried for him – Jaune could tell as much, from her face and general demeanour. The headmaster, meanwhile, did not chastise him for his rudeness, instead being content to let Jaune pace, and think, and work off his anger._

_In truth, however, Jaune did not have to consider matters for long._

_All it took to bring him to his decision, was closing his eyes, and remembering –_

_**The burning village, and the curling smoke. The dead bodies, and the screams as familiar as family.**_

_Jaune opened his eyes. Where before there was doubt, now there was only certainty, and cold resolve._

"_I'll do it."_

_Something flashed in the headmaster's eyes. Softly, he said,_

"_Good. Very good._

_His face was otherwise expressionless, but from him Jaune sensed quiet satisfaction – like that felt by a clockmaker watching his latest creation work to his exact specifications._

"_Now –"_

_The headmaster looked away for a moment, to check something on his scroll, before looking up again, and saying to his students,_

"– _I fear our meeting will have to end here, for I have many other urgent matters to attend to. We will speak more tonight, and I will explain, among other things, the task I have in mind for you, Miss Schnee."_

_Weiss nodded, as did Jaune._

"_Yes, headmaster."_

"_Understood, sir."_

_The headmaster stood, and begun walking them to the door. Before he let them out, however, he had a final thing to say –_

"_Remember the need for secrecy. Do not mention any of what we discussed to an outsider – even if they are a beloved family member or trusted friend. Nor should you make any notes in your scroll, or correspond electronically about our secret. You should only ever discuss Salem and our plans in person – and even then, I trust you will take the necessary precautions so that there are no eavesdroppers."_

_The headmaster frowned._

"_And another thing. Do not speak of Salem or of our plans to Professor Goodwitch, Mr Branwen, or any of the others whom I've mentioned as already being aware of Salem's existence. Professor Fall is the exception – you may wish to consult with her, Mr Arc, for your coming espionage mission."_

_Jaune and Weiss traded a glance, at this. She had arrived at the same suspicion, Jaune knew; and doubtlessly, she too recalled what the headmaster had said earlier, about Salem's plan to steal the relics._

'_**How she will accomplish this, we do not know – the acquisition of a servant with a teleportation semblance, perhaps, or even a traitor within our ranks.'**_

_Jaune felt cold._

_Small wonder the headmaster had decided to send a spy to infiltrate Salem's ranks, when he suspected the converse was already true._

_Jaune exhaled, shakily. The burden of responsibility, and the weight of the task he was facing, had never felt more crushing._

Indeed – even now, a week later, in the midst of his partner's funeral, Jaune could not stop his mind returning, obsessively, to the infiltration mission against Salem that was his responsibility.

"... and so I exhort all of us who remain..."

He had been so distracted, in fact, that he had tuned out much of Headmaster Ozpin's funeral oration. Forcing himself to focus, Jaune lent his ear to the headmaster's speech, which seemed almost at its end.

"... to be steadfast, and remember that the lives of all humanity depend on us huntsmen doing our duty. Let us hold true to these words, passed down through generations of Nikos, from the greatest warriors of old to the most promising huntsmen of today. _For it is in death that we achieve immortality. _No man lives forever, but what we do in life can echo to eternity, and the good we do today is all that we leave behind, once we have shaken off this mortal coil. Miss Nikos is dead, but her memory lives on, and we should honour her in the only way we can – by fighting the Grimm, and making the world a place so safe, heroes like her will never have to give their lives for it again."

It was an fine speech, and eloquently said. Jaune was genuinely impressed at how the headmaster could identify hope even in the midst of despair, and so, with sincerity, Jaune joined the rest of the mourners in clapping.

Once the clapping died away, Ozpin looked to Alexander Nikos.

The man nodded his assent, and so, with a gesture of his hand, the headmaster summoned Cinder Fall to the fore.

Jaune's former professor stepped forward. Immaculate despite the rain, she held aloft a wooden torch, wet and sodden from the storm –

– but as she handed it over to Alexander Nikos, its end erupted into fire. A fierce blaze came to life, so bright one could not help but avert one's eyes, and so hot it made the rain itself steam away.

There were inadvertent gasps of appreciation from the crowd; but where they thought this was just Vale's newest Champion invoking her unparalleled dust sorcery, Jaune Arc knew better.

Slowly, and almost painfully, Alexander Nikos advanced towards the wooden pyre on which his daughter lay. As his wife sobbed, and as he himself was gripping the torch so tight his hand was white, the man laid the burning bough at his daughter's feet, atop the bed of branches and boughs.

The fire caught, and in mere seconds it had spread to all ends of the pyre, even if the rain-soaked wood should have made this impossible.

Pyrrha's body was consumed by fire – a literal blaze of glory, as befitting the Invincible Girl.

Jaune had seen enough.

Turning upon his heels, he marched down the aisle.

No one stopped him; no one cared.

At a brisk pace, Jaune left the sprawling gardens of the private estate where the funeral had been held.

The estate was located in the upper-class district in the north-western part of Vale, far from the places ordinary people frequented, and under-served by public transport besides.

To get back to the city proper, Jaune was forced to brave the freezing winter rain and walk a fair distance – passing by the giant mansions and vast estates of the ultra-rich – to merely get to a bus stop.

Through a stroke of luck, the bus arrived just as he reached the stop, obviating the need to wait. Ignoring the glance of recognition from the bus driver, Jaune boarded, before settling his cold and wet self into an empty seat. The bus was empty save for the driver and himself, something Jaune was grateful for, since it spared him yet another round of judgemental stares and disdainful looks.

The rain started slowing to a drizzle as the bus wound its way through the upper-class district. Jaune passed the journey in silence, staring out the rain-occluded windows at nothing in particular.

By the time the bus arrived at the train station, the rain had ceased. Alighting, Jaune made his way down into the underground Valean metro station.

The dingy old apartment he was renting was in a dangerous and rather disreputable part of the industrial district, and it was there he was headed to now.

The names of Vale's districts were, in many ways, misleading; though the most prestigious office skyscrapers were indeed concentrated in the commercial district, and the heavy industrial plants and large-scale public housing complexes located in the industrial and residential areas respectively, reality was rather more complex and less neatly categorized, at it often was. There were plenty of smaller office blocks in the residential district, or residential dormitories in the industrial area, or factories engaged in light manufacturing on the outskirts of the commercial precinct.

Within the metro station, Jaune got onto the Vachellia line, which would take him south, towards the industrial district and where he needed to be.

The train was largely empty, though as it moved towards the centre of the city, more and more people started filling the carriages – which also meant more and more negative attention, the closer Jaune got to his destination.

This was his life, now. It had been seven days since Rothenburg; six days, since Ozpin told him and Weiss the truth of the world; and five, since the headmaster put out the agreed-upon lie and made a dramatic announcement proclaiming the expulsion of Jaune from Beacon – on the grounds that he had caused the death of a teammate, through his terrible leadership and judgement.

At present, Jaune Arc was the talk of the town, and the favourite thing to hate, and so long as he went about with his face uncovered – let alone wearing his distinctive armour – he was going to draw glares and poisoned whispers as honey drew bees.

If it was any consolation, he wouldn't ordinarily have to suffer such constant public opprobrium; were he to wear a cap and sunglasses, he could easily be out in public but avoid recognition. It was only today that he had to be in his very recognizable armour – what with ancient Mistralian funerary customs being of the extremely martial variety, and dictating that mourners attend in combat attire as far as possible.

Closing his eyes, Jaune shut out the looks and glowers of his fellow passengers, instead letting the motion of the train sway him to and fro, in a strangely relaxing ritual.

The trains of the Valean metro were swift and smoothly-operating as ever, and in little more than twenty minutes, Jaune found himself deposited at his destination.

Exiting the train, he made his way out of the station. The neighbourhood in the immediate vicinity of the train station wasn't too rough, though it got worse the further south one went, as Jaune would have to, to get to his apartment.

The winter sky was dark, but the street lamps were bright all the same, and Jaune making the long trek back to what was going to serve as his home for the foreseeable future.

The closer to his apartment Jaune got, the rougher the streets got. With increasing frequency, groups of young men – often faunus, and all poor – could be seen loitering about. Some were obviously drunk, and yet others perfectly sober but strutting about and spoiling for a fight.

Jaune's armour might have done him a disservice on the train, by proclaiming his identity to the world and drawing the distaste and disapproval of Vale's upstanding citizens; but here, down in the gutters, it protected him – singled him out, as a huntsman, and as someone not to be not to be messed with.

One fool, drunker than his peers, came up to take a swing at him anyway, and Jaune was forced to break his arm, and then his nose.

The man's friends, wiser than him, hung back, saying nothing and doing nothing, instead letting Jaune pass in peace.

The resentment in their eyes were clear as day, however, and for the remainder of his walk down that stretch of street, Jaune kept his aura activated – just in case someone had a gun, and was angry enough to try and shoot him from behind.

Nothing of that sort happened, thankfully, and Jaune made it to the street his apartment was on without further incident – though he did have the bad luck of catching sight of a young man and an even younger girl having sex in a nearby alley.

Ignoring the copulating couple, Jaune made his way to the convenience store by the corner of the street, to grab a bottle of whiskey, the cheapest he could find. Then, he headed over to the food truck parked across the road from his apartment building, and joined the surprisingly long queue of people waiting to order.

The two young women front of Jaune were talking about one of their friends in a bad relationship, and for the lack of anything better to do, he listened in, listlessly.

One girl was venting –

"... even stay with him? He beats her, and then says sorry, and she forgives him, and believes his horseshit about it never happening again. Like, c'mon – how can she be so blind to what he is?"

The other girl shrugged.

"People believe what they want to believe."

That particular comment made Jaune's mouth twist.

_How true._

Inadvertently, Jaune thought back to that difficult conversation he had had with Professor Fall a few days ago, and his mood, already poor, threatened to plummet even further.

_The flame danced in tune with Jaune's will. It was first a forceful stream, then a concentrated blast, then an expansive disk, and finally –_

"_Put that flame away, Arc, before you set fire to the room."_

_Professor Fall was curt with her reproach, as she stalked into the meeting room._

_Moving to comply, Jaune dismissed the flame summoned to hand by his semblance._

_He had been getting some practice with his new ability, and in truth, he was far from impressed._

_A layman might have been awed; after all, every child in Vale knew of Jeanne d'Arc and her legendary semblance. From Beacon's front courtyard, and its statue of Jeanne lighting the sky afire, to that folklore book Jaune had bought in Rothenburg, with its cover showing his ancestor wreathed in flames, Valean culture was replete with depictions of its national heroine and the pyrokinesis she used to bring the First King of Vale's enemies to heel. All the lords who opposed his rule had knelt, in the end, because against massive endless firestorms no army could hope to stand. _

_For Jaune, however... Though he could create, control and banish fire, giving him a semblance conceptually identical to his ancestor's, his power was in practice useless. Generating and manipulating even a small flame – as he was just doing – was taking a good tenth of his aura reserves, making his semblance far too costly to use in actual combat._

_**Well, we're not going to beat Salem by force of arms, anyway.**_

_Professor Fall had settled into a high-backed chair across the table from Jaune, and she wasted no time in asking –_

"_Have you retrieved Arthur Watts's contact details from Hazel Rainart's scroll?"_

_The Professor's question was direct and to the point; and wasting no words of his own, Jaune replied,_

"_Yes, Professor."_

_Rainart's last words before he died had been directed towards urging Jaune to contact Arthur Watts – another servant of the Queen, and a person who could relay Jaune's request of neutrality to her._

"_Very well. As promised, I will instruct you on how best to approach Watts – what to say, what to avoid, and how to exploit that man's personality."_

_She proceeded to do just that, with Jaune paying close attention – as if lives depended on it, which they truly did._

"_One final thing, Arc. Watts is a bitter man, defined by, and consumed with resentment – against the world in general, and against General James Ironwood in particular. It is what motivated his own defection, and so, to make your own betrayal of Beacon seem convincing to him, say this –"_

_Jaune nodded, as the professor outlined her clever stratagem, and as he worked to commit it to memory._

_One thing he did not understand, however, was –_

"_Professor, why do these people even serve Salem? Rainart might have been motivated by revenge, and Watts by resentment, but surely, that alone can't persuade a man to side with literal monsters, and serve the Queen that commands them? I mean – if they win, what happens then? Are they going to enjoy living in a world destroyed by the Grimm?"_

_Professor Fall raised one, perfect eyebrow at his question._

"_You are thinking, Mr Arc – which is good. You cannot hope to infiltrate the Queen's inner circle and survive in her service if you fail to see beyond the merely obvious. And as for your question – to answer it, one must first understand the difference between what the Queen truly desires, and what she merely pretends to crave."_

_Here, the professor's forehead creased, just for a moment._

"_According to Ozpin, Salem's grand ambition is apocalypse – the destruction of Remnant, and the death of all living things. Needless to say, this is not what the Queen tells her servants; this is not what they think she wants."_

_With narrowed eyes, and her lips pressed tight, Professor Fall looked intensely bitter here; a rare show of emotion, for her._

"_Most people – even the likes of Arthur Watts – need to feel like decent people; and to sleep at night, they need to think that what they do is good, is right, is justified. Salem knows this, and she beguiles them with promises, fools them with lies. She says that she wishes to conquer the world, and promises that once all Remnant is one kingdom – hers – then that will mean the end of war, and the start of a peace that will last forever."_

_It clicked for Jaune, then, and he interjected –_

"_Is that why, when she and I spoke, Salem said that she wanted a world at peace – a world without suffering, a world where no orphans exist?"_

"_Yes. And lies though they may be, these promises work. A man like Watts can happily continue to indulge his resentments, without having to be discomfited by the withered husk of his conscience. And a man like Rainart, who does not lack for compassion or honour, can fool himself into believing that the revenge he so ardently desires is actually good for the world. Fools, all of them."_

_Her contempt for Watts and Rainart dripped from her lips._

"_But enough of that. Now that you fully understand the enemy, are you ready to initiate contact with Watts?"_

_Jaune was, admittedly, apprehensive; but all the same, he nodded. Ignoring the sudden spike of burning pain in his chest, from his as-yet unhealed ribs, he affirmed,_

"_I am."_

_Retrieving his scroll, Jaune then selected Watts's scroll number, and initiated an audio-only call._

_The scroll rang once, twice, thrice – and then, on the dot, someone picked up._

_A voice, rich and deep and smooth, reached Jaune's ear._

"_Jaune Arc, I presume."_

_For all that he had thought himself prepared, Jaune hesitated, for a second, before managing to reply,_

"_Yes. And you must be Watts."_

_And so the dance began._

"_Arthur will be fine, though I am partial to 'Dr Watts'."_

_Professor Fall's advice came to mind, then._

'_**Flatter him.'**_

"_Dr Watts, then."_

"_Ah, a polite young man. Your courtesy is appreciated. Now, Mr Arc, how may help you?"_

"_Dr Watts, may I presume that you, like Hazel Rainart, are an ally of Salem?"_

'_**Call him an ally, never a servant; his pride is too fragile to accept so derogatory a term.'**_

"_Quite so."_

"_Then please, convey this message to the Queen. I am willing to let bygones be bygones; she destroyed my village, killed my family, –"_

_Jaune let his anger enter his voice; as if he had tried to suppress it, only to fail._

'_**Mention Domremy, and your family. Show your anger, and betray your hostility. These will be expected, of who you are pretending to be – an angry young man, forced to make peace with the people who murdered those you love. Do not appear too calm, too eager to please – as a spy attempting infiltration would be.'**_

_Jaune made a show of trying to control his anger, and of finally succeeding._

"– _but I've had my revenge, when I killed Rainart. Now let's make a new start. I will agree not to take up arms against the Queen, __**if**__ she will let me and my teammate Weiss Schnee live out our lives in peace – unmolested by Grimm attacks and free from attacks from her human servants"_

"_Ah."_

_Watts sounded sympathetic._

"_I understand your position, Mr Arc. You need to protect yourself, and your... __**friend**__..."_

_The way Watts said that word made clear his belief that Jaune and Weiss were more than teammates, and more friends. And though the conclusion was wrong, the inference was not an unreasonable one. Weiss was rich, and beautiful, and famous, and on the other side, Jaune had been her saviour during the White Fang incident; put together with the well-known fact that huntsmen and huntresses often dated within their teams..._

_A man like Watts, too clever by half, had jumped to the false but obvious conclusion, and now Jaune was more than happy to take advantage of the misapprehension._

_Watts was still speaking._

"_... but explain to me, Mr Arc, why you are not seeking Ozpin's protection. An immortal goddess is a fearsome enemy to have, to be sure, but so is a reincarnating wizard."_

_**A trap.**_

_It was just as Professor Fall had warned, and even now, from where she was seated , she was shooting him a sharp look, to remind him to be on guard._

'_**Remember what truths you are privy to, and what secrets you could not possibly know.'**_

_Jaune had learnt a lot from speaking with Rainart and from the Seer-induced visions, but the headmaster's utterly unfair semblance of reincarnation was not something that had come up then. Aware of the need to avoid betraying information he could only have had as a member of Ozpin's cabal, Jaune said, mildly,_

"_I'm afraid you've lost me, Dr Watts. Are you implying that the headmaster is a... reincarnating wizard?"_

"_Oh yes, my boy. Quite the powerful semblance your headmaster has... even if it has not saved him from repeated failures over the centuries, in his fight against our Queen."_

_There, Jaune would have to disagree, even if he could only do so privately. Humanity was alive, and the world at peace, which suggested the headmaster had been doing something right over the past two millennia._

_Knowing better than to be baited into contradicting Watts, Jaune said,_

"_I'm not sure if I believe such can existence... though maybe it isn't that far-fetched, everything else considered. Regardless, it doesn't matter. You want to know why I haven't gone to Ozpin for help?"_

"_Pray tell."_

"_Have you seen the latest news out of Beacon, Dr Watts? Have you seen what they're saying about me?"_

_Jaune didn't even have to fake his anger; it came all too naturally._

_Meanwhile, Watts seemed intrigued, and he replied,_

"_No, I haven't. But allow me a second, and I shall see what it is that you – __**ah**__."_

_There was a moment of silence after that; doubtlessly, Arthur Watts was quickly drinking in the latest story that would have just hit the front page of the Vales News Network._

_It had been timed to perfection; it was not a coincidence that Jaune was calling now, right after Ozpin would have put out the announcement about Jaune's expulsion._

'_**Sing this anthem of resentment, Arc, and you will persuade Watts.' **_

"_Do you understand now, Dr Watts? __**I**__ defeated that Necrovalock. __**I**__ killed Rainart. __**I**__ saved Rothenburg. But now Ozpin is putting it out that I'm a glory-hunter who abandoned my team in their time of need, and who got them killed because of it. How __**dare**__ he. I almost died defending that village, and this is the thanks I get? This is my reward? This –"_

_The resentment boiled up all at once, forming an almost physical pressure behind his eyes and nose that choked his very words off._

_Jaune was, at this point, no longer sure if he was even acting._

_Watts was silent, for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice had a strange tenor to it._

"_I understand, Jaune Arc. I understand. Loyalty repaid by betrayal; daring rewarded with disgrace... it is painful."_

_Watts was silent, again – before seeming to regain his stride, and saying,_

"_I will convey your offer of peace to the Queen."_

_**Game, set and match.**_

"_Thank you."_

"_A word of warning. The Queen will require some proof of your sincerity – some evidence, that you have indeed forsaken Beacon and Ozpin forever, and can be trusted to keep your promise not to oppose her."_

"_What does that mean, exactly?"_

"_Not to put too fine a point on it, but you will be required to carry out some tasks – nothing too difficult, for a boy of your talents, but you must perform them out all the same. Do you agree?"_

_Jaune made a show of mulling it over, but there was only ever going to be one answer._

"_... fine. What will these tasks be, Dr Watts?"_

_From that point on, things moved swiftly. Details were shared, clarifications made, and a course of action agreed upon._

_Then, finally, Watts bid him a good day, and the call was at an end._

_And that was that – the die was cast, the river crossed, the point of no return passed._

Jaune was apprehensive, he wasn't afraid to admit. He had felt a momentary upsurge of triumph upon his successful fooling of Watts, but once the man began describing the task Jaune was to do, his unease returned, in full force.

And it was unease he still felt now; even as he patiently queued at the food truck to get his dinner, he could not but turn the details of his upcoming task over and over in his mind.

What Watts wanted him to do was plainly criminal, and even if Jaune did his best to avoid harming innocents, there was no guarantee that everyone was going to walk away alive.

And the people he was going to have to work with...

Weiss would have blown a gasket – which was precisely why he hadn't told her.

Jaune pushed these musings out of his mind. Having reached the front of the queue, Jaune nodded to the large, grizzled Vacuon man who ran the food truck.

The migrants who had fled eastern Vacuo to make a better life in Vale had brought with them both their culture and their cuisine, and Jaune was finding that he had developed quite the taste for the latter.

"The lamb kebab, please – and some cheese fries."

It was vastly unhealthy, and the Jaune of two weeks ago – gym-going, and dedicated to sharpening his skills and maintaining his conditioning – would have been appalled.

However, right here and now, Jaune was cold, wet, tired and depressed – and just wanted something hot and good to eat.

He paid for his food, and then headed into the run-down building that was his apartment block.

The lifts were slow, and smelt of piss besides; so Jaune took the stairs, two steps at a time. Some exertion later, he reached the seventh floor; navigating to his apartment, he then opened the door, and went in.

The single-room flat was a dismal place, with a threadbare carpet, creaking furniture, and half-dead ceiling lights.

Putting his food and whiskey aside, Jaune stripped off his armour and his wet clothing, before heading into the equally decrepit bathroom, with its mould-crusted sink and a toilet that barely flushed.

The shower, at least, worked well enough, and with some relief Jaune entered the cubicle and twisted the shower taps to bring the water up to full blast.

As the scalding hot water ran down over his body, Jaune finally allowed himself to relax.

It had been a difficult day, and a cruel week. He had always thought he was the strong and resolute sort, and perhaps he was – but that strength felt brittle now, and his resolve was far from what it had been when he first entered Beacon; when he had thrown his aura-less self off a cliff, heedless to danger and without any cares in the world.

He wondered how Weiss was doing, too. The last time he had seen her...

"_I don't like this, Jaune."_

_The training chamber was scorched and scarred; vestiges, from Jaune's testing of his semblance._

"_Well, I don't like it any more than you, Weiss, but it is what it is."_

_One particular dummy target was still on fire, and Jaune had to direct some of his attention towards extinguishing those flames._

_With that done, he sat down on a nearby bench, holding his sore ribs and wincing as he did._

_Weiss, meanwhile, was pacing around, her agitation evident._

_Despite his expulsion, Jaune had been given a few days' grace, and allowed to stay on campus until he managed to find his own place. In the meantime, he trained, and practised his frustratingly-limited semblance._

_Today, Weiss was free enough from her other responsibilities to spend the morning with him._

"_You're not taking this seriously, Jaune."_

"_But I am. You're the one who's worrying too much. I'll do my best not to hurt anyone, and –"_

_Weiss interrupted him then, a frown flashing across her face._

"_It's not other people I'm worry about – it's you."_

_Feeling flattered that she was concerned, Jaune laughed – though that only made Weiss's frown deepen._

"_Jaune, you're severely underestimating the people you will need to fight. The place Arthur Watts wants you to assault is a military base. Yes, Vale is not Atlas. Yes, huntsmen are not directly employed by the Vale Armed Forces. Nevertheless, the VAF contracts huntsmen and huntresses to guard its bases, as a hedge against this very eventuality – an attack by aura-enhanced opponents. Those you are likely to cross swords with are not going to be weak, and fighting them carries substantial risk."_

_Jaune ran a hand through his hair._

_Weiss was not wrong. After the devastation of the Great War, the Last King of Vale had abolished the Kingdom-controlled militaries, and transferred command and oversight of the aura-capable warriors to the independent Huntsman Academies – thus allowing the Grimm to be fought, even while preventing the Kingdoms from waging war on each other using armies of superpowered soldiers._

_That arrangement had kept the peace for forty years, until the Faunus Rights Revolution. For all that the faunus had legitimate grievances and a righteous cause, their victory terrified the Kingdoms, and made them painfully aware of just how vulnerable they were to rebellion and terrorism. That they subsequently remilitarized was to no one's great surprise; and while Mantle had been the most avid, all the Kingdoms moved to build some kind of standing army – with elite infantry trained, strategic bombers and submarines built, and tanks manufactured. The only restriction retained from the post-war settlement, in the end, was the rule that huntsmen could not be recruited by the armed forces._

_It was a delicate balance. Many, particularly those who remembered their history, were justly hostile to huntsman involvement in the military. On the other hand, there was the real threat of terrorism, and it was not unreasonable to allow the military to contract huntsmen for specific purposes like spearheading an attack on a camp of aura-capable terrorists – though Atlas pushed this arrangement to disquieting limits, with its Specialists serving directly under General Ironwood._

_**And even in Vale...**_

"_You're right, Weiss. Watts warned me as much. There'll be three teams of huntsmen stationed at the airbase we're raiding, and –"_

"_**Three**__?"_

_Weiss looked aghast._

"_Jaune, you can't beat __**three**__ teams of fully-trained –"_

"_I can and I will. I killed Rainart, and Ozpin himself says that man was one of the strongest huntsmen on Remnant."_

_Weiss did not look impressed._

"_Yes, you killed him – with your sword made of Anra steel. How will you fare without it, I wonder?"_

_She got him there._

_There were perhaps only a dozen Anra blades in the world, and if he went around killing people through their aura, it would be far too obvious who the rogue huntsman attacking military bases was._

_Even using a plain, ordinary sword was a risk – the Arc family's fabled reputation as swordsmen was too great, and the present public scrutiny on him too heavy, for it to be out of the question that someone would draw a link between the impossibly skilled sword-wielding attacker, and the recently disgraced and understandably disgruntled Jaune Arc._

_Jaune pushed himself off of the bench. He had rested enough._

_And as he stood, he said,_

"_Yes, I won't be using Crocea Mors. But I'll have other aura-capable combatants aiding me –""_

"_Tch. Criminals, you mean."_

"– _**and**__ my base level of strength and speed are sufficient to comfortably best the average huntsman."_

"_And if your opponent proves stronger than that? If they're an elite-level combatant, like the Ace-Ops or my sister?"_

_Weiss's tone was sharp. Her eyes, too, bore into his,_

_Calmly, Jaune replied,_

"_Then it'll be chancier, but I'll still be favoured – once I learn to use my semblance correctly."_

_Weiss somehow managed to look even less impressed than before. With a raised eyebrow, she asked,_

"_Is this the same semblance whose uselessness you've been decrying? And by decrying I mean whining piteously about."_

_Her snark brought a wry smile to his face._

"_Look, everyone would prefer it if my semblance wasn't just a vastly inferior version of my ancestor's, but it's not the end of the world. So yes, I'm forced to draw no less than tenth of my entire aura reserves for any move, great or small; and if I don't use up all that drawn aura, the remainder goes to waste, because no matter how hard I try to retain the excess, it just dissipates after a minute."_

_All these Jaune had figured out through trial and error._

"_But this limitation isn't necessarily a fatal flaw, is it? It just means I have to adapt, and adjust the way I use my semblance in combat, right?"_

_Weiss took his meaning._

"_Do you intend to forgo constant use of your semblance, and instead rely on the sparing use of powerful, aura-intensive attacks and shields?"_

_Despite her initial scepticism, she seemed interested in engaging with him on the topic._

_Jaune nodded, in answer to her question._

"_Basically, yes – but beyond the straightforward matter of attack and defence, I'm thinking that I should work on my mobility and manoeuvrability."_

_After his fight with Rainart, Jaune had been thinking hard about how he genuinely stacked up against the strongest huntsmen and huntresses in the world. That meant scrutinizing his combat abilities – and identifying the flaws in his style that he was previously too overconfident to notice._

_Weiss looked thoughtful. As she absent-mindedly fingered Myrtenaster's hilt, she said,_

"_Yes... I see. With your sword, putting down the enemy is not at issue; getting to them is."_

"_Exactly. So –"_

_The next hour was spent trying to get fire-propelled movement and flight right; and at the end, Jaune had more bruises than ever, courtesy of his constant collisions with the walls and ceiling and floor._

_All this while, Weiss gave encouragement, and advice. As someone whose own fighting style relied heavily on the ability to accelerate through the air while changing directions on a whim, Weiss had valuable experience to share, and Jaune took all her suggestions and criticisms to heart._

_Finally, though, his aura was exhausted, and that brought a hard stop to the training session._

_Jaune found himself deposited on the floor in the middle of the training chamber, panting and sweating from strenuous exertion._

_The click of heels on concrete signalled Weiss's approach, and from the ground, Jaune turned his head to face her._

_With a tired smile, he greeted her,_

"_Hey."_

_Weiss's mouth quirked in response, before she did something Jaune did not expect; she lowered herself to the ground, and sat herself beside him._

"_Aren't you afraid of getting your snow-white dress dirty?"_

_Weiss laughed, softly._

"_It's been through worse. __**We've**__ been through worse."_

"_Yeah..."_

_From the Torchwick incident to the defence of Rothenburg, Weiss and himself had indeed been through some terrible things together._

_But where the former led to a vastly improved relationship between them, the latter..._

_Perhaps it was all in Jaune's head, but ever since Rothenburg, he could feel an increasing tension between the two of them – a painful tightness, made of things unsaid. And even as Weiss was sitting companionably by his side, he could sense that she and he were both holding something back._

_Weiss turned to him._

_Without embellishment, she said,_

"_I'm leaving for Atlas tomorrow."_

_Jaune was unpleasantly surprised, for a moment; but then the resignation set in. He knew Ozpin was sending her back home to re-assume her responsibilities as heiress to the SDC; he just didn't think it would be so soon._

_Nodding his acknowledgement, Jaune then tried to suppress the feeling that he was being abandoned. Instead, he reminded himself that Weiss didn't want this any more than him; indeed, she hated it._

_Making sure to pick his words with care, Jaune said,_

"_I'm sorry that you have to do this. I know you wanted to become a huntress, but now that dream is dead."_

_Weiss's lips curved up in a bitter smile._

"_It's fine. The headmaster is right. The SDC in my father's hands is the White Fang's greatest recruitment tool. He needs to be eased out, and only I can make that happen. And for whatever it's worth... I'm sorry too, Jaune. That you need to sacrifice your reputation, risk your life..."_

_She trailed off, as if even describing what he was giving up was a task too unpleasant to bear._

_That prompted Jaune to look at her, and smile in an attempt to be reassuring. Accompanying that, he said,_

"_Well, if it's to protect the world from Salem, I have no complaints."_

_The conversation lapsed into silence, then._

_And as the awkward silence grew, the feeling that was overcoming Jaune started becoming unbearable; it was a dam in his chest, ready to burst._

_Learning about Salem's existence had been so momentous that it eclipsed all else, but even so, Jaune had never forgotten that singular, transcendental moment in Rothenburg – when he realized that he loved Weiss, and when that realization gave him the power to protect both him and her._

_Jaune __**had**__ to tell her. He had to do his feelings justice, and with her going away, he could not afford to delay any longer._

_**But what if she says no?**_

_The thought of rejection, and the prospect of their friendship ruined – that terrified him._

_..._

_Summoning ever last ounce of courage, Jaune forced his mouth to move, and forced himself to say –_

"_Weiss. Do you want to date?"_

_She looked at him, then, her eyes inscrutable._

"_A strange thing to ask about, Jaune. At Beacon, I've not had the time to worry about relationships or think about boys."_

_As Weiss gave her answer, Jaune didn't know whether to cry, or laugh._

_She had misunderstood his question – she hadn't realized that he was asking her out, and not merely inquiring if she had considered getting into a relationship._

_**Or**__, and now the sneaking suspicion came..._

_... she had understood him perfectly well, and had tried to reject him with sufficient subtlety to spare him humiliation and leave him his dignity._

_Jaune now utterly regretted opening his mouth at all; not only had he failed to get a positive answer, he didn't even know if he had been rejected – and now that uncertainty only festered in his chest._

_Jaune hated himself, then, for being too much a coward to truly speak his heart._

_Except –_

_Weiss spoke, again._

_Softly, with a whisper barely audible, she said,_

"_Ask me again at the end of the year, once both our missions are done. By then, I'll have had more time to think about it... and will maybe give a different answer."_

_Jaune froze._

_Unless he was misunderstanding, Weiss was implying –_

_**She must be.**_

_Weiss, Jaune realized, was in as much a bind as him. Even if she liked him, she couldn't be sure if he was asking her out, or just idly inquiring about her love life or the lack thereof._

_Hence her noncommittal words, which could be anything to anyone – an encouragement to ask her out again, if he truly was interested; or just a innocuous reply to his idle question, if he wasn't. No rejection had to be risked, no awkwardness threatened._

_What cowards they were, when it came to their emotions. All he and Weiss could do was dance around each other, too afraid of what might be lost to reach for their heart's desire. _

_In the end, all Jaune could say was,_

"_I'll remember to ask you at the end of the year, then."_

_His answer pleased Weiss, at least. A smile graced her lips, and she said,_

"_I'll hold to that promise."_

_And after a beat, she added,_

"_Let's go travelling, after this is all over."_

_Jaune laughed, lightly. Though he was he was deeply pessimistic about the war against Salem having a happily-ever-after, Weiss's optimism warmed him all the same. Gamely, he replied,_

"_Let's."_

_His agreement seemed to buoy Weiss even further, and with her eyes bright, she said,_

"_In Atlas, there is this place in the mountains, a week's journey from the city proper. There, a river falls from the peaks down into the vast lake beneath, and in winter that river freezes. That frozen waterfall is the most beautiful thing in the world. I'll like you to see that, one day."_

_The picture Weiss painted was breath-taking, and the thought of being there with her made Jaune feel elated beyond words. Without hesitation, he said,_

"_I'll like to see that too, with you. Let's go together, at end of this year, during the winter solstice."_

_The smile Weiss granted him then was a brilliant thing – brighter than the sun, and warmer than spring._

_He smiled, too, without inhibition or reserve._

_And in that moment, there was only him, and her, and the world they found in the eyes of each other._

"Weiss..."

Jaune could not help but say her name. And as he stood under the scalding downpour of his apartment's shower, he found himself smiling. It had been days since that moment, and the promise that ground it, yet it made him so wonderfully happy all the same.

He had enough worries to drown an ordinary person, but when Weiss was on his mind, even the world did not seem so dark a place.

And so it was with his mood far improved from its original state of melancholy and dejection, that Jaune finished up his shower. Towelling himself off, he moved with a new spring in his step, as he headed back into his room and threw on some fresh clothes.

Retrieving his food and his whiskey from beside the door, he poured himself a full glass of the latter, before downing it in one go and then pouring himself another.

Between the warm buzz of alcohol and the memory of that moment with Weiss, Jaune was happy; truly.

Expulsion and disgrace; a funeral and a partner, dead; the hordes of Grimm and the terrifying Queen at their head – all these concerns faded to nothing, and for this small sliver of eternity, Jaune Arc revelled in some uncomplicated bliss.

Even if this joy lasted but an hour, he would always have this; he could go get back to being miserable soon enough, but for now he was happy, and contented to be.

-(=RWBY=)-


	12. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow II

The rest of the night was spent in a state of drunken contentment, until the crash came, some time before midnight, at which point Jaune found himself lower than ever.

It was almost a relief when he had to leave for his mission; at least then he could distract himself from the misery and melancholy that had reasserted themselves within his mind.

Instead, Jaune made to focus on the coming night, and the completion of the task Watts had set him.

With his usual combat attire and the armour he ordinarily wore being too recognizable, Jaune eschewed them in favour of throwing on some plain black clothes, and foregoing armour altogether.

Then, he pulled a beanie over his head to hide his distinctive blond hair, before tying a scarf around his lower face, and using it as makeshift mask to cover his mouth and nose from sight.

Last but certainly not least, Jaune armed himself. Transferring Crocea Mors from its original, iconic sheath to a plainer, mud-brown one, Jaune swung his family sword over his shoulder so as to carry it on his back. Then, he strapped his old training sword to his waist – made of ordinary steel, it was what he used to wield in training against his schoolmates at Beacon, though for tonight it would see some real combat.

Using Crocea Mors and hurting huntsmen through their aura generated far too great a risk of recognition – that much he and Weiss had agreed upon, during their discussion in the training room last week. Hence, Jaune would not be utilizing it tonight, though he brought it with him all the same – in case everything went to hell and he had to fight his way out against a Champion-level combatant, or some elite huntsman team.

For the coming raid, it was his training sword of ordinary steel that he was going to be using instead – and while that too carried some danger of recognition, given his family's renown as swordsmen and his own infamy, that was a risk he just had to bear; Jaune wasn't about to go into live combat with only his fists and an untested semblance.

After ensuring his weapons were tightly secured to his body, Jaune turned off the lights in his apartment, and then proceeded to the sole window in the room.

Pulling it open, Jaune scanned the area to check for anyone watching – before slipping out, and dropping himself to the ground.

His aura surged, and he landed well – safely, and without a sound. Then, he was off, walking at a brisk pace, though not running at the sort of superhuman speeds only a huntsman was capable of. He dared not do so, as it risked drawing welcome attention to the newest resident in the area – him. And having budgeted more than enough time to get to the meeting point, he wasn't in a rush anyway.

At this time, there were few people on the streets, and the night was both pleasantly cold, and relaxingly quiet. There were still some isolated groups of ruffians about, but the blades on his back and at his waist were sufficient to deter them, and Jaune suffered nothing worse than verbal abuse and unoriginal insults as he passed the local toughs.

Making good time, Jaune reached his initial destination – a run-down carpark, located a few streets away from his apartment block.

A variety of cars and trucks and motorcycles were parked on the sprawling asphalt, but it was one particular vehicle that Jaune sought out.

At the corner of the parking lot, Jaune found what he was looking for – the beat-up but still functional motorcycle that he had gotten from Junior. Jaune had told the gang leader that he was about to get involved with some shady, underworld business – and the man had believed him, given the harsh reality that Jaune needed some way to earn a living after his huntsman career was left for dead. And once Jaune had dropped some hints that he would be willing to help Junior out in some of his turf wars with rival gangs, the man had agreed to do Jaune a couple of favours – the first of which was the provision of this untraceable motorcycle to him. Were the raid to go wrong, and were the authorities able to track down this motorcycle, Jaune didn't want them to be able to trace it back to him – which was where one of the cash-bought, unregistered vehicles used by Junior's criminal organization came in handy.

Starting the engine, and kicking back the supporting kickstand, Jaune navigated the vehicle out of the parking lot, and onto the street – at which point he revved the engine, and was off at a tear.

Jaune could not claim to be as skilled as the likes of Yang at driving a motorcycle, but he was competent enough, given his training at Beacon. Off-road motorbikes were, on account of their speed and manoeuvrability, one of the most effective ways for huntsmen to travel in the wilds, and Beacon had conducted driving lessons accordingly.

As Jaune raced through the streets, he passed factories and warehouses and heavy vehicle parking lots. And though it was night, and though the dangerous speeds he was coaxing out of his motorbike meant his surroundings passed in a blur, Jaune could see clearly enough that many of the buildings were dilapidated. The area had seen far better days, that much was undeniable.

Jaune headed south, and east. His destination was an abandoned warehouse on the southern edges of the industrial district, and owing to his absolute unfamiliarity with this part of Vale, Jaune had rely on his scroll's map app to find his way to his destination.

After perhaps twenty minutes of travel, Jaune reached the vicinity of the designated meeting spot. Killing his speed, Jaune found an abandoned alleyway to leave his bike in, before approaching the warehouse where the team for the coming raid would be waiting for him.

His aura was up and his mind alert, as Jaune walked towards the warehouse. With his senses cast out, Jaune could identify a dozen aura signatures within the building; and from the strength and intensity of those signatures, it was clear that everyone present had their aura unlocked.

Next to the giant, rolling sheet door that served as the warehouse's main entrance, there was also an ordinary door; striding up to the latter, Jaune opened it, and walked in.

The sight that greeted him was expected, but no less welcome for it.

Men and women in white vests and Grimm masks stood in a loose circle at the centre of the warehouse.

It was all Jaune could do to hide his loathing; he hadn't forgotten the kidnapping of Weiss, and the attempt to make a snuff film out of her. And for all that Sienna Khan had disavowed the kidnapping after the fact, and denounced it as the rogue act of an extremist branch in Vale, Jaune held her responsible all the same – the woman who had led White Fang into abandoning peaceful protest in favour of brutal terrorism did not now get to complain that some of her men had gone a step too far on the slippery slope to hell.

Terrorists – that were what these people were, and Jaune did not let himself forget it, as he strode forward deeper into the warehouse.

Heads turned towards him as he did so, and assessing gazes from behind white masks fell upon him.

One man, however, did not deign to look up from where he was seated on an upturned crate.

Red of hair and black of horn, the man continued calmly and methodically sharpening his sword, which was itself as crimson as the rivers of blood its owner had doubtlessly spilled.

Without inflection in his voice, Jaune said,

"Taurus."

Jaune knew the man by reputation. He was, by all accounts, a deadly swordsman, one whose strength rivalled that of any elite huntsman; he had to be, to have done the things he did, and to have killed the men he had.

The White Fang's ruthlessness and brutality did not begin with Taurus – but the man had played a significant role in getting the Fang to push the boundaries of inhumanity, by targeting civilians and not merely the military or the SDC, and by slaughtering soldiers who had already surrendered.

Taurus was still honing his sword against a whetstone, and did not initially acknowledge Jaune's greeting. It was only a few more rounds of sharpening, and a final flourish of his katana, that he stood, sheathed his sword, and said,

"And you are?"

The man's tone was blunt, and just shy of impolite. So, without wasting his own breath on pointless courtesies, Jaune replied,

"Mordred."

The codename tasted bitter on Jaune's tongue. The treacherous knight from Angraeli legend, who had betrayed his father the king, and brought doom upon their kingdom and the ideals of chivalry for which it stood – this was a none too subtle allusion by Watts, who himself could not resist being clever at the cost of antagonizing Jaune.

If Adam Taurus got the reference, however, he did not comment upon it; indeed, Jaune doubted that it was in him to care about such things. Instead, Taurus gave a curt nod – which Jaune took to be acknowledgement that he was indeed the person Watts had sent, to help the White Fang on their raid upon the airbase.

At that moment, however, the other White Fang members started backing away – in the first sign that things were not going as planned.

The second sign came, when one of the White Fang soldiers – a speckled, brown-skinned girl – said,

"Adam, don't –"

She could not finish speaking before the third sign came from Taurus himself. Leaping forward, the bull faunus drew his sword from his scabbard in a single motion of blistering speed and impossible smoothness –

– thus forcing Jaune to draw his own blade in reply, to counter as necessary.

Taurus's strike came down hard and fast, in a vertical cut aimed for Jaune's head, and though the very natural reaction would have been to step back, to dodge, Jaune did the exact opposite – stepping forward and to the right, while bringing his sword around in a counter-cut.

His high, horizontal twisting strike met Taurus's attack, and even as the faunus's blade was blocked by the crossguard of Jaune's sword, the tip of Jaune's blade was already arcing in from the right towards Taurus's own head.

The steel sword left a horizontal scratch upon Taurus's white Grimm mask, and the man jerked back, to re-establish some distance between the two of them.

The other White Fang soldiers were still hanging back, not attacking, and Jaune's suspicions were confirmed.

_This is a test – a test of strength._

Had Adam Taurus truly wanted him dead, he would have gotten his men to swarm him. That he had not done so suggested that Taurus was more interested in gauging Jaune's skill and general strength – to see, perhaps, how much of an asset Jaune was going to be for the raid, and how best he could be used.

And if that was the case, Jaune was more than happy to oblige.

Taurus tensed, seemingly ready to leap in once more with another attack, and Jaune almost fired off a counter-strike then and there –

– but his instincts screamed at him that this was a mistake, that Taurus was merely attempting a feint. Perhaps it was the way the man's weight was incorrectly distributed; or perhaps it was the obvious folly of attempting a surprise, lunging attack from range when such had already failed once – regardless, Jaune didn't think Taurus was about to try the same thing twice.

That was what his instincts told him, and Jaune had long learnt to trust his instincts when it came to fighting.

Instead of attempting the counter-strike that would have left him exposed had Taurus merely been feinting, Jaune simply pressed the attack himself, lunging in to strike.

Taurus, to his credit, shifted gears immediately, pushing himself back one step to avoid the arc of Jaune's blade.

He succeeded, if barely, and the tip of Jaune's sword grazed his mask, leaving a vertical scratch to complement the earlier, horizontal one.

He fell back once more, even while keeping his sword pointed towards Jaune in a ready position.

Despite himself, Jaune found himself enjoying the fight.

He was, admittedly, not pushing himself. All that mastery of aura he had achieved at Rothenburg, and all that power he had grasped – he called upon none of that, now.

Jaune was walking a fine line, here. He had to show enough strength to prove his usefulness, but he didn't want to beat Taurus so badly that the man got angry and simply called his team in to attack Jaune – in which case he would have no choice but to fight for real, kill the Fang, and miserably fail Watts's task.

Hence, Jaune chose to show off his substantial skill, even while holding back the sort of raw speed and strength that he had, in his desperation, managed to pull out against Rainart.

Taurus and Jaune himself were still eyeing each other.

Jaune was holding his sword in his favoured high stance, sword pointed up; and Taurus mirrored him in this – an aggressive posture befitting the infamous terrorist leader.

No one moved to attack, but in silence, every shift in posture was noted, every attack vector calculated, and every strategy considered – such was a battle between true masters of the blade.

Jaune wondered what the other White Fang members thought of what was going on. To their untrained eyes, it would seem as if their leader and the outside huntsman were doing nothing but staring uselessly at each other; but if so, more fool them.

In the end, it was Taurus that first broke the standoff, when Jaune shifted his weight from his front foot to the back. Interpreting that innocuous move as the prelude to a pre-emptive strike, Taurus sprung into motion.

The man's right leg kicked off, pushing his body forward and generating kinetic energy that he then imparted into his sword. With his left leg staying planted, Taurus pivoted and brought all that force into the downward swing of his sword.

It was a powerful strike, well-executed, and would have seriously dented Jaune's aura had it hit –

– but it did not hit, for Jaune stepped to the side while twisting his sword, letting his blade point downwards even as he held the hilt near his head.

This brought a length of angled steel between him and Taurus's strike, and the blow, though powerful, ended up parried to the side, sliding off the span of Jaune's blade even as Jaune let the force push his own sword down and around.

Twisting, Jaune guided that redirected force into a strike, and brought his blade screaming down at Adam Taurus's face.

A third scratch joined its two existing brothers on Taurus's mask, though the man's last-ditch dive to the side saved his head.

Taurus rolled on the ground before coming back to his feet, white concrete dust covering his once-immaculate black coat.

He was fuming now. Rage and anger billowed off the man, clear and unmistakeable to Jaune's aura sense, as an inferno at night was to the eye. Not that one needed a huntsman's aura sense to tell that Taurus's temper was boiling over – that much was obvious, from the man's bared teeth and the furious growl he was giving.

His fury left him his intentions helplessly exposed, however, and with the shifting of his shoulders and the tensing of his legs, it was contemptuously easy to see that Adam Taurus was about to throw himself recklessly into a frontal, all-or-nothing attack.

Taurus's right leg pushed off, and Jaune – almost lazily – brought his sword high and across, in the start of a counter-stroke that would parry Taurus's blade, while creating an opportunity for a follow-through strike against Taurus's head.

Except –

_What!?_

Impossibly, Taurus's intense anger dissipated, like it was never there; and far from lunging in, Taurus merely did a single, halting step forward – no more.

_A feint!_

The tables had turned, and now Jaune was in a terrible position, with his blade thrust out uselessly, ready to counter an attack that was never to be.

And _now_, only _now_, did Taurus attack in earnest, the man ducking below Jaune's blade and diving in, sword point first.

Time slowed to a crawl.

The razor-sharp end of the katana sped towards Jaune's heart.

He wasn't dead; far from it, for his aura would protect him.

Nevertheless, Jaune's very soul rebelled against the idea of letting the blade touch his chest – of letting someone, anyone, best him at swordsmanship; this dance of sharpened steel, this battle of anticipation designed to kill.

He was the greatest swordsman in the world, and he was not about lose to some lesser mortal.

Summoning that mastery of aura which had carried him to victory at Rothenburg, Jaune imbued his body with extraordinary strength and speed.

Then, with a roar, Jaune ripped his sword downwards.

Steel met steel; blade tore cloth; but flesh –

– flesh was untouched, and blood unshed.

Gingerly, Jaune stepped back, right as the same time Taurus himself backed off.

Jaune's jacket bore a nasty cut, where the tip of Taurus's katana – propelled by the force of Jaune's deflection – had ripped right through the cotton. Jaune himself, however, was no worse for the wear.

"I almost had you, there."

Taurus spoke. His tone was bland, almost observational.

For a terrorist leader, Jaune decided, Adam Taurus was much more level-headed than he let on.

Inwardly, Jaune revised his estimations upwards, of just how dangerous the man was.

Taurus sheathed his katana, and Jaune followed, by returning his steel sword to its scabbard. And to Taurus's comment, Jaune replied,

"_Almost_, yes."

"Mmm."

If Taurus was displeased at the slight needling, he did not let it show. In any case, with the fight done, Jaune was compelled to ask,

"So, am I strong enough for you, Taurus?"

That was the whole point of the fight, after all – to gauge Jaune's strength, and his usefulness to the raid. And of that, Taurus's judgement was –

"Yes."

The man's answer was blunt, as was the question he followed he followed it up with.

"You were holding back, until the end. Why?"

Jaune considered his reply; and mindful of not giving insult, he said,

"It wasn't a fight to a death. There was no point."

Then, changing the topic and taking the opportunity to offer some praise, Jaune added,

"That was a clever trick, pretending to be angry, and baiting in an attack. How did you do it?

Huntsmen could, through their aura sense, perceive an enemy's emotions, and thereby gain an edge in combat. Smugness could indicate unreadiness and a susceptibility to a surprise attack; rage could signal an imminent direct attack that needed to be countered; and fear could hint at jumpiness, and a tendency to lash out or fall for otherwise obvious feints.

On the flipside, however, if one could fool one's enemy as to one's emotional state, one could draw them into misreading the timing of one's attacks – thus creating exploitable vulnerabilities.

And yet, though huntsmen over the ages had attempted such a tactic, they had never succeeded, for the problems were legion and the solutions poor. It was hard enough to use memories to summon specific emotions in the heat of battle; it was near impossible to get these evoked emotions strong enough to swamp out all other feelings and to send the enemy an unequivocal but false signal; and that was without even getting into the difficulty of making these conjured emotions feel natural in context – a sudden bout of fear when the enemy was previously icy calm, for instance, would not fool a remotely competent fighter.

Adam Taurus, however, had succeeded where everyone else had failed. Anger wasn't the most difficult emotion to summon, certainly, and the man was also taking advantage of the negative stereotype about bull faunus, and turning others' prejudices against them – but there was more to it. The sheer intensity of his rage, so overwhelming that no one could think it fake – Jaune didn't think feelings of such magnitude could be summoned on a whim.

With genuine curiosity, Jaune awaited Taurus's explanation – even if one didn't seem forthcoming, what with the way his question had made the man's mouth twist, while causing the surrounding White Fang members to shift uncomfortably.

"Never mind –"

"There's no trick."

Taurus interrupted Jaune, just as he was about to tell the man to forget his question. And tersely, the man continued, to say,

"All I do is think about the what the humans have done to us. And that's enough."

_Ah._

That was most Taurus had said that night, in a single go – two sentences, no more; but from those two sentences Jaune Arc had gotten a pretty good idea of the man before him.

_Anger isn't something he __**feels**__; it's something he __**is**__._

"Now –"

Clearly done with enough explanations for the night, Taurus began pivoting to discussing the upcoming raid.

"– I'll go over the plan –"

"Adam."

The speckled, brown-skinned girl who had spoken out against Taurus earlier stepped forward, and spoke out again now.

Taurus turned his head sharply, his annoyance at the interruption clear. And while that made the girl hesitate, she ultimately pushed through with what she had to say.

"We have to ask him. Sienna –"

"Tch."

The mention of the High Leader seemed only to deepen Taurus's annoyance. All the same he assented, albeit brusquely.

"Ask him, then."

The girl nodded, before turning to Jaune.

"... Mordred. During the raid, we'll be fighting soldiers, and also huntsmen. But even after we defeat them, these humans will still be –"

She glanced at Taurus.

"– _too dangerous to let live_ –"

The way she said that phrase made it clear that the term was someone else's – almost certainly Taurus's – and she was merely repeating it.

"– because they could know our goals, or remember our tactics and numbers, and if they live they can give this info to Huntsman Command and the military. So maybe the wisest thing is just to k-kill them. Do you agree, Mordred?"

Jaune didn't miss how the girl stuttered over the word _kill_. Her unease in mentioning murder as an option was palpable, even if Taurus did not share her qualms. The man had been half-listening, but now he only snorted, before turning away to check a map on his scroll.

Jaune himself was utterly leery of this talk of murder. The whole operation had been morally fraught since the beginning, and this was not helping matters. The White Fang was attempting a raid on a Vale Armed Forces airbase so as to acquire some very powerful and very difficult-to-obtain gravity dust, and for the sake of gaining Salem's trust, Jaune was obliged to help them. Inevitably, innocent people, including brave soldiers and huntsmen, were going to get hurt in the process – though Jaune was going to do his best to avoid killing anyone or inflicting permanent injuries. The real worry, in truth, was what the Fang was going to do, and how many they were going to kill, with a hundred tons of stolen gravity dust at their disposal – but even there, Headmaster Ozpin made a persuasive case that Jaune helping the Fang now was the safer choice. They were probably going to succeed with the dust theft even without his help, given the vast resources Salem could otherwise lend; and if so, it was better to have Jaune inside the operation, where he could plant tracking devices on the dust, thus allowing the authorities to recover them at a later date, along with any other stockpiles of stolen dust stored at the same location. Additionally, working with the Fang gave Jaune the opportunity to find out more about what the Fang was planning on a grander scale – and also what Salem herself was hoping to get out of this alliance.

With all that said and done, Jaune was faced with an immediate moral dilemma – agree that the defeated soldiers and huntsmen ought to be executed, so as to protect his standing with the Fang; or disagree, and risk the mission and everything that depended upon it.

Jaune glanced at Taurus, who was still absorbed in his map, and – presumably – busy mentally running through his strategy for the coming raid. The man seemed not at all concerned about what Jaune had to say, even though he was infamous for his ruthlessness and brutality, and ought to been interested in whether his temporary ally shared his outlook and proclivities.

And as for the girl –

She looked desperately uncomfortable as she awaited his reply. It puzzled Jaune, that she would even bring up the matter, when she clearly didn't agree with the idea of summarily executing unarmed prisoners. Indeed, Adam Taurus himself didn't seem to care too much about ensuring their new team member – Jaune – had sufficient fanaticism for their cause. Watts had assured Taurus of Jaune's sympathy to the Fang, and that seemed enough for him. It helped, that Watts had slyly implied to Taurus that Jaune was a faunus, without ever outright stating it and risking having to prove the lie. As it was, Jaune could coast by on the misconception, and allow everyone present to assume he was a faunus without an immediately apparent trait.

_Oh, not to worry, Mr Arc. I told Taurus that you were a former child labourer who escaped a Valean logging camp, and that you hate humans with a passion. He can draw the implications himself, and if he mistakenly assumes you are faunus – well, far be it for me to correct another man's pleasant delusions._

There was something Jaune was not seeing here; something he was getting wrong.

Casting his mind back, he recalled Adam's impatience when Sienna Khan's name was mentioned. It was Sienna Khan who wanted the question asked, this test for fanaticism, administered – even though it was Taurus who on the even more extreme, violent wing of the Fang.

And for all his withering contempt for Sienna Khan and her belated disavowal of Weiss's kidnapping, he had to admit that the she probably wasn't lying about her not approving it – the High Leader was far too savvy a politician to do something as politically suicidal and monumentally self-defeating as have the Fang livestream the torture-murder of a young girl.

Which meant –

_Of course._

The truth clicked within his mind, and Jaune could hardly believe he had been so blind.

The question the girl was asking on behalf of Sienna Khan, this test of his judgement – it was not to ensure he was fanatical; it was to ensure he _wasn't_.

Everything fell into place then.

Sienna Khan wasn't worried about new recruits and prospective allies having too little ruthlessness; she was worried about them having _too much_, what with mindless brutality achieving them nothing in recent times but a public relations disaster, and increased military pressure in the wake of Weiss's kidnapping.

The speckled, brown-skinned girl was asking the question on behalf of her leader precisely because Taurus's brand of fanaticism was too extreme for even her – and because she wanted to ensure Jaune wasn't some murder-happy maniac either.

And Adam Taurus, of course, didn't care for the question being asked because he thought Sienna Khan's relative restraint weak and pusillanimous.

Meanwhile, Jaune only felt relief – not just from arriving at the truth, and alleviating the psychological stress caused by his previous state of bewilderment; but also from knowing that he no longer had to choose between two evils, or push for murdering defeated huntsman as the cost of keeping his cover.

"What's your name?"

Jaune asked the brown-skinned girl that, as a prelude to his actual answer.

The girl looked startled to have been asked.

"Ilia."

"Well, Ilia, I don't agree with killing defeated, unarmed soldiers and huntsmen. Killing people in battle is one thing, but once they're no longer a threat, what good does murdering them do? Lives are precious, and shouldn't be carelessly thrown away – we aren't Schnees, for gods' sake."

Ilia snickered, and many of the other White Fang members laughed too; just as he had hoped, that barb against Weiss's family proved popular, and won him some favour.

Continuing, Jaune said,

"And it's not like there are any secrets we're protecting by sending these people to their graves. If we take a whole warehouse's worth of gravity dust, we can't hide that fact. And –"

Jaune looked at Taurus, whose jaw was clenched, even as the man himself studiously looked at his map, and avoided giving any sign he was actually listening.

"– killing these people are counterproductive from a military perspective anyway. If you let them live, whatever backup arrives will need to get them medical help; this delays any pursuit. If we kill them, all those reinforcements will have nothing better to do but be hot on our heels. Being merciful is practical. Don't you agree, Taurus?"

The man finally looked up. Without visible emotion, he replied,

"A better reason than caring about the lives of humans who want to kill us. But _enough_."

He directed that more to Ilia than to Jaune himself. And then, to the whole team, he allowed,

"For this raid, spare who you can, and kill who you must. It's more than the humans deserve, but that should keep Sienna happy, and if she's not..."

Taurus trailed off menacingly.

Otherwise, however, things seemed to have resolved themselves well enough; in particular, the raid wasn't going to be as bloody as Jaune feared.

"Boss?"

One of the other White Fang members chose that moment to speak up. It was the bat faunus, who had his arms crossed even as he looked at Jaune.

"Yuma."

Taurus acknowledged his subordinate.

Yuma stroked at his goatee, before speaking once more; his voice deep and gravelly, there was a sense of authority to him, and as he said,

"I might be wrong, but I think this guy's a human."

This declaration almost caused Jaune to start in surprise; and while the rest of the White Fang crew descended into murmuring amongst themselves, Taurus himself seemed as still as stone.

His reply was a single word, one which thrummed with tension.

"Explain."

Yuma nodded.

"Well, it might be nothing, but this guy keeps saying _people_ this, _people_ that; we shouldn't kill these people, we shouldn't put these people in an early grave. You get the picture. But only humans talk like that; faunus don't. When _we_ refer to _them_, we call them _humans_. Yes?"

Even before Yuma was done speaking, Jaune knew that Watts's implicit lie had been blown apart. Whatever the linguistic reality, and whatever the truth behind the ways in which faunus spoke of humans, Yuma's claim _sounded_ persuasive – and as he heard an angry clamour rise around him, Jaune knew that the terrorists were _this_ close to deciding to kill him.

Taurus, meanwhile, was turning his neck around so he could look Jaune in the eyes. It was almost creepy, the way the man's body stood stock-still as his neck turned, and as his head swivelled about. There was something deeply disquieting about the intense way in which Taurus seemed to focus on Jaune, and on his alleged humanhood, to the exclusion and detriment of everything else.

"Mordred. Prove you're faunus. Show your animal trait."

The command was simple, straightforward and something Jaune was utterly incapable of meeting.

Feeling the situation slowly slipping out of control, Jaune decided to go on the initiative, and break the truth himself.

"Can't do that, Taurus. I _am_ human. Nothing wrong with that; and nothing wrong with me helping my faunus brothers and sisters fight for justice and equality."

Taurus didn't bother replying. He only walked forward, so he ended up right in front of Jaune.

Jaune was tall, but Taurus was even taller, and the bull faunus loomed over him now.

His hand was also rested on the hilt of his katana, a fact that Jaune could not help but be hyper-aware of.

His voice menacingly soft, Taurus said,

"Watts also said a lot of bullshit about logging camps and you hating humans. Not sure I believe that now. So tell me the truth, or I'll cut off your head, and send it to Watts. Why do you want to fight with us?"

Jaune's first instinct was to meet fire with fire, and answer threat with threat.

_Threaten me again, Taurus, and I'll tear out your guts, and paint this warehouse red with your blood._

He had the strength to back it up, and the cold resolve to be believed.

But Jaune was not that sort of person; he was not Adam Taurus, to resort to threats of ultra-violence just because he was angry.

He still had his mission from Ozpin to gain Salem's trust; and hence, he still had to complete this task for Watts, and help usher the coming White Fang raid to a successful conclusion. That in turn required peacefully resolving this impasse, and restoring the terrorists' trust in him – and if that was unachievable through the truth, a lie would just have to do.

And not just any lie – but the best sort, a half-lie, with enough of the truth in it to be credible, and to be, from actual truths, indistinguishable.

Jaune had always been sympathetic to faunus rights, and it was not for nothing that he and Weiss had gotten off to a terrible start at Beacon. He had read the Liberty International reports, been sickened by the evidence of terrible oppression and abuse happening down in the Schnee mines – not that Weiss had believed the accusations when Blake had levelled them, and when Jaune had provided further evidence, in that brutal team quarrel on their first day together.

_I'm not blind to the oppression faced by the faunus, and that's the truth._

But it wasn't enough; the White Fang would not believe that abstract moral outrage had brought him here. There had to be a personal reason – an injustice he himself experienced, to make Jaune take up the sword against his own people.

_So, a lie to seal the deal._

And for that, Jaune turned his mind to Blake's outburst in that very same team quarrel. He could remember it clearly even now, months after, so powerful were her words, and so memorable was her righteous anger.

"_Oh __**yes**__, of course, it's just a conspiracy. Everyone's just out to get the poor, victimized Schnees. It's __**totally**__ not the case that reputable organizations like Liberty International have compiled tons of investigative research showing faunus in the Schnee mines being beaten and whipped, of female faunus being raped, of faunus men being mutilated with the fucking SDC logo –"_

_Blake stopped mid-rant. She was pale, and growing paler. And for some inexplicable reason, she was pointing at her left eye, and yet was now looking at her own pointing hand with growing horror._

_Without another word, she fled the room._

_Weiss was speechless; Jaune, meanwhile, only felt a sinking feeling, as he got a sense of the truth behind the last – admittedly insane-looking – finger pointing part of Blake's rant._

He was no fool; it was clear Blake had a family member or friend who had been subject to the horrific, humiliating torture that was faunus branding. And as for the weaving of that injustice into Jaune's own fictive narrative –

All around Jaune, white masks gleamed in the poor light of the warehouse.

It was at that moment that inspiration came flaring up, like the flame from a match struck in the dark – and Jaune knew with absolute certainty what he had to say.

"You want to know why I fight, Adam Taurus? I'll tell you. I'll tell all of you."

Jaune looked around – at Ilia, at Yuma, at all the other White Fang members, and then finally back at Taurus himself.

"I've never lived under a rock. I've watched the news; I've heard of the Schnee mines and the people they abuse. All that made me furious, made me want to know more. So I read the human and faunus rights reports; I learnt all about the beatings and the rapes and the mutilations. I was sickened – but still, I thought the White Fang was wrong, and that violence is intolerable; because it hurts people, and doesn't even work in forcing change on the world."

Jaune snorted; the bitterness came easy enough.

"Then, one day, I got into a huntsman academy – a small, low-tier one, not Beacon or any of the Big Four – and there I met my partner, this guy who was a dog faunus. He was a good friend, and an excellent huntsmen.

"But here was the strange thing – I never get to see the upper part of his face. In the dorms, at breakfast, in class, in the showers – he was always wearing these thick, visor-type glasses, which hid both his eyes and the area around them. I kept telling him it looked stupid, and that it also made people afraid, because it somewhat looked like the White Fang's masks. He told me to mind my own business, and so I did.

"Then, at the end of our first year, we went off on a training mission. Long story short, things went wrong, the Grimm dogpiled us, and my friend died protecting me. The Grimm mauled him bad, and most of his body was a bloody mess – only his face, really, was left.

"I took his visor off, then. I wanted to see my friend's face, for the first and last time, before we had to bury him, and before we had to say our final goodbye.

"Do you know what was on his face, on the area around his eyes? _Do you_?"

Jaune pushed his face up into Adam Taurus's.

"A fucking _brand_! Spelling _S-D-C_! On my dead friend's _face_, like he's some sort of _animal_ to be branded, some sort of _property_ to be stamped!"

Jaune was bellowing now, his emotions running wild in sympathy with the words he spoke and the story he told. And all this while, he was gesticulating wildly with his finger; pointing, always and ever, at his left eye – at where his imaginary friend's imaginary brand was meant to be at.

And then, all of a sudden, like a puppet whose strings were cut, Jaune sagged.

In a tired tone of voice, he concluded.

"I decided then that if they wanted to treat my friend and other faunus like animals, then they're slavers and murderers who deserved to die. And that's why I'm here, helping you – for justice, and for equality, there's no one I won't kill."

For the longest while, no one spoke. Taurus himself could have been carved out of granite, for how absolutely little he moved.

Then –

– after long, long seconds –

– Adam Taurus finally spoke.

For a man animated by anger and sustained by rage, he was, in this moment, miraculously free of such dark emotions.

Instead, it was with a calmness bordering on tranquillity that Adam Taurus said, softly,

"Ilia. Get our friend here a mask. He'll need it, to be one of us."

-(=RWBY=)-


	13. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow III

With Jaune's powerful story having convinced Adam Taurus that he was on their side, Jaune faced no more questions over his motivations or loyalty.

And finally, the raid could proceed without further distraction or delay.

After a short briefing by Taurus on their assault strategy, Jaune and the White Fang soldiers piled into a large lorry, which was to serve as their transport to the airbase.

Two members of the White Fang sat in the front cab of the truck, one driving and the other acting as an armed sentry. In the cargo area, Jaune was sat together with Taurus and the remaining nine White Fang soldiers – from whom Jaune was now visually indistinguishable, given the new Grimm mask he was wearing.

Taurus himself sat across from Jaune. Both of them were at the rear of the lorry; they had been last in, and would be first out, once the raid started.

Taurus, whatever else his faults, did not lack for courage; nor for ability, whether as a soldier or as a commander. Beyond coming up with a strong strategy for the mission, he had also ensured that his team had the right equipment for getting the job done. Given that Jaune was now part of that team, he too was being issued the mission-appropriate items.

"Here."

Taurus handed Jaune a small bag of plastic cable ties, along with a tactical radio set and a packet of first aid dressing. Their individual purposes were clear enough – the cable ties for securing prisoners; the radio for communications within the team; and the first aid dressing for not dying of one's wounds. Taurus didn't bother explaining the obvious, but did issue instructions with respect to the radio.

"Press this button on the earpiece to talk. Don't be a distraction – speak only when you have important things to report. And if you lose a fight, and are about to die or be captured, make sure you crush the earpiece so the enemy can't listen in onto our communications. Understood?"

Jaune nodded. Slipping the cable ties and the first aid dressing into a pouch on his sword belt, he then put on the radio set – earpiece over his ear, throat microphone around his throat, and the radio transceiver itself hooked onto his belt.

"Testing."

His voice came out from his earpiece, audible if strange sounding, as was always the case when one heard one's own voice.

Satisfied, Jaune stopped fiddling around with his equipment, and instead focused on listening to Taurus probe his team on their understanding of the mission strategy, and on how they would react as circumstances diverged from what was currently anticipated.

The overall plan was simple. The thirteen of them would be split into three teams, each one with its own objective. Team One consisted of the strongest fighters – Jaune, Taurus and Ilia – and their aim was the incapacitation of the three huntsman teams defeating the base. Team Two consisted of the spider faunus Trifa and four others, with the job of securing the airbase's armoury so as to prevent any military personnel from arming themselves in response to the attack. Team Three consisted of the flight-capable bat faunus Yuma and another four soldiers, with their task being to guard the airfield and prevent any outbound flights – which could lead to other bases being notified of the attack, and to reinforcements being sent. But assuming everything went to plan, and presuming every team succeeded, it would buy them the security and space needed to access the relevant storage warehouse within the base, load up the gravity dust onto some commandeered trucks, and then make their escape.

All this was to happen under the cover of a cyberattack from Watts, which would disable telecommunication systems and equipment within the base for the duration of the attack; no one was going to be able to request any help from the outside world, unless a bullhead or a plane managed to break out and escape to another base.

Nevertheless, plenty of things could and would go wrong, and it was unsurprising that Taurus wanted everyone on the mission to know how to react to changed circumstances.

"Ilia."

It was the speckled, brown-skinned girl that Taurus turned his attention to first. Without preamble or wasted words, the man began testing her on her part in the coming raid.

"What's your role?"

Ilia responded promptly –

"To attack the sleeping huntsman team quartered in the north-western room on the second floor of the huntsman station, while you do the same for the other team in the south-eastern room, and while Mordred defeats the third team on the roof that's awake and on sentry duty."

Ilia's answer was detailed, and delivered without hesitation, but that alone did not satisfy Taurus.

"And what if your targets wake up?"

"I'll put down who I can, and then retreat while hitting them with ranged fire – drawing them westwards away from the huntsman station until you and Mordred are done with your opponents and can come help me."

"And what if they ignore you and decide to help the other human huntsmen anyway?"

"Then I'll warn you and Mordred over the radio before closing the distance and them in melee."

"And what if –"

On and on it went, Taurus conjuring up scenarios of things going awry and forcing his soldiers to consider their optimal course of action in such situations. Sometimes, the solutions were obvious; other times, they were not, prompting uncertain silences from the soldiers, and requiring Taurus himself to step in and offer curt advice.

Jaune paid attention, even when it was not him being tested, since he needed to know what the others were going to do, if he were to help them when things went wrong.

As the conversation winded on, so too did the lorry make its way out of the industrial district, and into the southern, agricultural part of Vale.

Farms and fields passed in the dark, and Jaune found himself musing about the ethics of what he was doing.

Assault, and grievous bodily harm, and possibly even murder – these were the crimes that were expected of him tonight, and to make things worse, it was huntsmen Jaune was being asked to hurt.

_Huntsmen._

They varied in strength, from the fresh-faced primary combat school student, to the professional huntsman, to the Champion whose might shielded a Kingdom. And equally, Grimm differed in power, from the ordinary Beowolf, to the giant Deathstalker, to the titan-class Goliath whose very steps shook the earth. It remained a fundamental fact of their world, however, that you needed the former to fight the latter – the huntsmen, to hunt the Grimm; for the skin and armour of the monsters resisted even the most powerful of conventional bombs, while yielding readily enough before aura-imbued weapons and semblances, much as shadows parted before the light.

It was these defenders of humanity that Jaune was being asked to attack, and to possibly kill or cripple – there was no way to spin that fact.

_Even so._

He had to see this raid through, if they were to prevent Salem from winning and the world from ending.

Ironically, the instructions that Adam Taurus had earlier given to his team made good advice. Murderer and monster though he might have been, he wasn't wrong in saying –

_... spare who you can, and kill who you must._

That was certainly Jaune's intention for the night's coming fights.

"We're almost there."

The driver made the announcement, calling to the rest of them from the front of the cab. The sentry spoke as well, by adding,

"The base is a half a kilometre away, Captain. Should we stop?"

Taurus nodded, and replied.

"Yes. Kill the engine. The rest of you wait here. Ilia, Mordred – with me."

Without waiting for an answer, Taurus leapt out the back of the lorry, Jaune and Ilia following.

The three of them began sprinting for the base, and though Taurus was initially in the lead, Jaune overtook him quickly enough.

With lives on the line, Jaune pushed himself, using his hard-won aura mastery to move his body at a speed far beyond what most huntsmen would ever achieve.

In mere seconds, he reached the entrance of the airbase. With an effortless jump, Jaune vaulted over the shut and barred gate, and came upon the guardhouse.

And though the aura signatures of unpowered individuals were weak, they were still perceivable, and his extended aura sense told him exactly where all the soldiers on guard duty were – one in a concrete sentry box to the right, another three in front of the guardhouse itself, and the remaining four on the second floor, presumably abed and asleep.

Jaune had but seconds until Taurus arrived, and had no time to waste.

Dashing for the sentry box, Jaune aimed to take out the immediate threat that was the armed sentry.

The man's panic at being attacked by a huntsmen was evident, and he started raising his rifle – but he was slow; too slow.

Before he could get his weapon fully up, Jaune was on him, his right hand sneaking through the sentry box's large front window to hold the rifle down and its muzzle pointed uselessly away. Simultaneously, Jaune brought his left hand forward to clamp down on the sentry's right forearm.

Then he squeezed, and with deliberate but precisely controlled brutality, crushed the man's bone at the midpoint between wrist and elbow. Ignoring the howl of pain that the sentry gave, Jaune repeated the act upon the man's left forearm, leaving him alive but unable to wield any weapons or shoot any opponents.

This was a kindness, in truth, and a better fate that what he would otherwise have gotten, though Jaune did not expect his victim to see things that way.

Leaving the sentry to cradle his broken arms against his chest in agony, Jaune turned on his heels and rushed for the guardhouse. In front of it, three soldiers had been sitting around a makeshift desk chatting, but now they were standing, and hurriedly trying to get their rifles – which had been slung around their backs – around to the front.

They had no chance, for in less time than it took to draw a breath, Jaune was in their midst, his fists flashing out in quick succession towards their faces.

The men cried out, and staggered, their noses broken and their eyes forced shut from the pain. That gave Jaune the opportunity to repeat what he did earlier – reaching out with his bare hands, and breaking the bones in each of the soldiers' forearms.

As Jaune was busy doing that, Taurus came leaping over the gate, too late for any immediate action – precisely as Jaune had planned.

By getting here first and thoroughly incapacitating the soldiers, Jaune had removed the possibility that Taurus would have to fight them; and given that Taurus was never going to be using anything but lethal force, Jaune's swift, pre-emptive action had surely saved these men from certain death.

Taurus took the situation in at a glance, and failed to say anything; certainly, he didn't seem to be complaining that Jaune had sped ahead, or that he had chosen to exercise substantial mercy. The latter in particular was a good sign, to Jaune's mind, for it signalled that Taurus was not going to go back on his own instructions to defer to Sienna Khan's preference, and to spare lives wherever possible.

With the soldiers before Jaune now groaning in pain and effectively incapacitated, Jaune turned his attention to the remaining soldiers within the guardhouse itself.

Taurus too, was moving, heading for the door by the side of the building, clearly intending to make his way up to the second floor where the soldiers were sleeping.

Again needing to incapacitate their opponents before Taurus could get to them, Jaune opted for a more direct route. Taking a few steps back and bending his knees, Jaune then jumped _up_.

His hands caught the ledge outside the second floor windows, and with a heave, he pulled himself up.

The windows themselves were shut, but he brought his right leg up and gave a swift kick to the glass and shattering it.

This woke everyone within the room, and shouts of surprise and dismay rang out, as the soldiers sat up with a start from their beds.

Overmatched and unprepared as they were, they fell easily to Jaune's onslaught. Darting forward, Jaune won the day with a combination of palm strikes and grappling – the former to briefly stun the soldiers, and the latter in a repeat of his earlier actions, in breaking bones and splintering limbs.

When Taurus finally burst through the door, it was to a fight already over, and to the sight of four men lying in their beds, whimpering in pain.

By this time, Ilia had arrived as well; with a graceful leap, she surmounted the gate, and landed on the entrance road in front of the guardhouse.

Turning, Jaune called to her,

"Ilia! The soldiers are all defeated. I'll bind the ones in the guardhouse; you tie up the ones down there."

Ilia, to her credit, did not protest being ordered about by the new human member of the group, instead nodding and moving towards the nearby group of incapacitated soldiers. Jaune suspected that she was happy enough to secure them before they could gather their resolve, fight through the pain, and perhaps mount some sort of futile resistance – which would only exhaust Taurus's limited mercy and get them all beheaded.

Moving swiftly himself, Jaune pulled the cable ties out from his belt pouch, and got to work – pulling legs together, and binding them both to each other and to the bed frame, before doing the same for arms. The latter necessitated applying force on the men's broken limbs, which elicited terrible cries of agony, but Jaune ignored them and did what was – objectively – a mercy.

Taurus didn't stick around to watch Jaune secure the prisoners; instead, he walked off, speaking over the radio channel to the rest of the team.

"Guardhouse is secured. Move in."

In short order, all the prisoners were secured, and the rest of the White Fang team was assembled in front of the guardhouse. The gate itself had been thrown open, all the better to facilitate their exit later.

Hopping down from the second floor, Jaune joined his fellow criminals as Taurus was speaking some final words.

"You know your tasks. Do them and we'll succeed without any faunus dying tonight. For the Fang!"

"For the Fang!"

An enthusiastic cheer went up in response to Taurus's rallying cry, and then the man himself gave the order for the raid to start in earnest.

"Go!"

Everyone rushed for their assigned destinations, which meant Taurus, Jaune and Ilia began sprinting westwards, along a road running by the perimeter fence, and towards the airbase's huntsman station.

Huntsmen contracted to defend military bases from possible terrorist attacks tended to be housed in a separate, solitary part of the base, for reasons both practical and symbolic. On the one hand, it was in no one's interest to have ordinary soldiers caught up in the superhuman combat that would ensue, were aura-capable terrorists to attack the huntsmen defending the base. And on the other hand, this arrangement signalled to the world that the contracted huntsmen were not a de facto part of the military, and that the post-war settlement enshrining the separation of huntsmen and military was being respected.

It was an arrangement that suited Jaune and the White Fang well enough, for now they count mount their attack without necessarily alerting the rest of the base right off the bat.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Taurus kept a relatively restrained pace, as did Jaune control his urge to run ahead to try and non-fatally incapacitate the enemy huntsman before Taurus could fall upon them. All this was to ensure that Ilia could keep up; the three of them needed to arrive and mount their attack at the same time, for it to be maximally effective.

After perhaps two hundred meters, they neared the huntsman station, a squat two-storey building with a further, three-storey high metal observation tower build onto its roof.

Through his aura sense, Jaune could make out one huntsman descending the observation tower hastily, just as his teammates on the roof below began activating their auras; clearly, they were aware of the imminent attack. That much was no surprise, given that one of them would have been keeping a lookout from the top of the tower, and given that there was no way to hide the aura signatures of three huntsmen approaching at high speed.

Jaune pushed more power to his legs, and pulled ahead in a burst of speed.

Closing the distance faster than the huntsmen would expect, he then jumped, propelling himself up onto a window ledge on the second floor of the huntsman station; and from there, a second leap brought him up to the roof.

Vaulting over the parapet, Jaune fell upon the huntress closest to him.

The slim woman was armed with twin daggers, each one fast and deadly; but the speed and manner by which Jaune had arrived on the rooftop had taken her by surprise, leaving her exposed.

With all the vast strength he had used to contend against Rainart, Jaune brought his sword smashing down upon the woman's shoulder – and in that single blow, her aura broke, light crackling all over her body as the physical manifestation of her soul shattered.

A follow-up kick to her right shin broke her leg, eliciting a cry of pain while causing her to collapse to the floor.

All this passed in but a second, giving the woman's teammates no time to respond; but once they grasped the situation, they attacked.

A big huntsman, broad in the shoulders and muscled like a bull, charged in; and as he did, he brought his morning star swinging around down, in an attempt to pulverize Jaune's head.

Smoothly, Jaune stepped forward, and executed a technique he had used a thousand times before, from his first duel against Cardin in Beacon, to just earlier that evening against Taurus.

Blocking below the head of the morning star with the base of his blade, Jaune then twisted his sword around – deflecting the spiked ball of the morning star off and away to the side even as his blade arced towards the man's head.

Jaune's sword caught the big man right on the side of his face, and in an instant brought his aura from full to zero – as well as inflicting a deep cut, with the man's passive aura defence failing to fully ward off the powerful attack.

Blood gushed from the wound on the right part of the man's face, and the man roared – only for Jaune to continue by kicking the now aura-less man in a shin, snapping that leg in two.

_Behind._

Jaune kept enough of an eye on his surroundings to know that the remaining two members of the defending huntsman team were coming for him, and he spun out of the way just as a short but well-built huntsman tried to smash Jaune with the edge of his large, round shield.

Using the momentum of his spin, Jaune brought his sword swinging around, to strike this third huntsmen in the upper arm.

Aura shattered into nothingness, and with a well-placed kick Jaune broke the man's leg and brought him stumbling down.

Stepping around the fallen man, Jaune faced off against the fourth and final member of the team.

This huntress wielded a rapier, and was – from what information Watts had provided him – the leader of her team.

Her anger was etched in her face; a natural reaction, given the bad injuries Jaune had just inflicted on her teammates.

But there was fear there, too; the effortless way in which Jaune had dismantled three professional huntsmen made it fairly obvious what the result of their own fight would be – and given the White Fang's dark reputation, the huntress had good reason to think that she would soon be killed.

Nonetheless, she did not run; that was not the way of huntsmen and huntresses, who would sooner die than abandon their teammates.

Determination flashed across the huntress's face – Jaune could see it, from the furrowing brow, to the hardening eyes, and to the way her mouth set into a grim line.

So when the attack came, it came as no surprise.

The woman lunged, throwing her body forward and thrusting her rapier out towards Jaune's heart.

He reacted immediately, bringing his sword up to parry the woman's blade off course even as he made a lunging stab off his own – all in a single, seamless motion that ended with the huntress's aura breaking and the tip of his sword partially piercing through the woman's face.

She stumbled back, blood pouring from ruined mess where her left cheek used to be.

Even though he had never intended to inflict it, the terrible, disfiguring injury did not give Jaune pause, and he immediately went in for the further disabling blow, with a low kick that shattered the huntress's lower leg into two.

And with that, the short, brutal battle upon the rooftop was concluded. The traumatic nature of aura breaks meant that those who suffered them could not recover aura at all in the immediate aftermath. Hence, for at least the next hour, these huntsmen and huntresses would not be regaining access to their superhuman physical capabilities, and they would be no more of a threat than any random soldier who happened to appear.

Just to be safe, however, Jaune broke their arms all the same; he didn't want them crawling their way to the edge of the roof and taking potshots at the White Fang using the ranged forms of their mecha-shift weapons – that way lay the path to a summary execution by Taurus.

Jaune understood very well that excessive mercy was just delayed cruelty, and he was not so cowardly as to let scruples or squeamishness stop him saving as many lives as possible.

His dirty work done, Jaune considered who to help out next – Taurus, who was fighting on the second floor, or Ilia, who was luring her team of defending huntsmen away to the west.

The choice was made for him, after a wave of crimson energy blew out the entire north wall of the second floor.

_Not dust. Taurus's semblance?_

As the attack dissipated, like the scattering of blood-red petals into the darkness, Jaune could no longer sense any other aura signatures on the floor below; everyone there was dead, and beyond help.

_Ilia it is._

Turning towards the north-west, Jaune leapt off the building, and sprinted after the retreating Ilia and huntsmen who were pursuing her.

He was on them in mere seconds, and between his speed and their lack of situational awareness, he managed to get good strikes on each one of them before any could offer meaningful resistance.

Their auras shattered like so much glass, just as Ilia herself turned around, and switched from fleeing to fighting at the drop of a hat.

Throwing herself back into the fray, her blade extended into a lightning-infused whip, which she lashed to and fro, striking the various huntsmen and causing their limbs to lock up in electricity-induced paralysis.

"Good job."

Jaune voiced his sincere praise, appreciative as he was of Ilia's comparatively humane method of immobilizing the enemy; it totally obviated the need for him to resort to anything as brutal as limb-breaking.

"No problem."

Ilia nodded as she acknowledged the compliment. Then, by unspoken agreement, they got down to binding their prisoners' limbs and also tying the whole group together, thus impeding their movement.

Leaving the whole group bound and sprawled in the middle of the road by the perimeter fence, Jaune and Ilia hurried back to the huntsman station.

When they arrived at the roof, Jaune found – to his great relief – that Taurus hadn't just executed the huntsman team Jaune had defeated, and instead was tying them up. And while the team was sporting bruises and leg fractures that hadn't been there before – courtesy of getting lippy with Taurus and being beaten for it, Jaune did not doubt – the fact that they were still alive was good enough.

As Taurus fastened the last cable tie, he told Jaune and Ilia,

"Ilia, Mordred. Prepare –"

He was interrupted, when their headsets crackled to life, and when Yuma's panicked voice came to them from over the radio channel.

"Boss! We were watching the airfield, and stopped some airmen from getting to the bullheads, but some others sneaked past to the strike fighters, and –"

A roar split the night air, and Jaune knew the mission was now _this_ close to failure; _this_ near, to being utterly dead in the water.

An A-1 Aquila rose into the sky from a distant airfield, before wheeling about and heading straight for where Jaune, Taurus and Ilia were stood.

It wasn't even flying off, to seek help from another base; it was intending to kill the lot of them, and for all that conventional bombs fared poorly against the Grimm, they worked perfectly well at obliterating aura and pulverizing flesh.

Jaune had about a second to decide what to do, before the strike fighter teed up its bombing run and did what the Valean Council had bought it precisely to do – kill faunus terrorists who dared wage war against the state.

_If we run, we die. But if we fight, we might just survive._

Jaune made a split-second decision.

_We fight, then. __**I'll**__ fight._

Gathering his aura, Jaune sprang into action.

He sprinted for the edge of the roof, before vaulting onto the parapet and pushing off – throwing himself, out into thin air.

For a single, terrifying moment, it felt like he would fall; and indeed, gravity did grasp at him, threatening to pull him down to earth, and down to death.

But then Jaune activated his semblance, and a searing fire exploded into existence.

With vicious, jarring force, flames erupted in his palms and under his feet – pushing him forward even while streaming out behind him, to create a blazing backblast that threatened to immolate anything in its path.

Jaune was propelled forward and up, riding the force of fiery explosions that felt ready to tear his body apart; and which, even with his semblance protecting him from the worst of the heat, felt like having the sun pressed into his palms.

And yet, as imperfect as the technique was, and as inexperienced a semblance user as he had to admit to being, he _flew_.

With a scream – of infinite joy and of bottomless terror, and of an indescribable emotion that accompanied absolute freedom – Jaune soared into the heavens.

And though he could not sense the emotions of the strike fighter's pilot from this far away, Jaune was certain that it was incredulity which was coursing through his opponent at that very moment – for it was one thing to see, and another to accept, the fact that a human was performing unaided flight; that someone was streaking through the sky using their semblance, which might as well have been magic to the ordinary human.

Regardless, the Aquila was no longer the sole sovereign of the sky; and instead, the limitless space between the clouds above and the ground below was now a battlefield, on which it was kill or be killed.

Knowing the pilot could not long tolerate this state of affairs, or ignore the threat that a flight-capable huntsman posed, Jaune judged that the pilot would, for the time being, leave the White Fang on the ground alone – and instead prioritize retaking supremacy of the skies, by killing Jaune himself.

That judgement informed his next move. Even before he saw the attack coming, Jaune twisted, thrusting his left hand out to the side, so as to divert his flight off to the right.

And not a moment too soon, for with the next second came –

_! ! !_

A rain of deadly steel ripped through the space he had just managed to vacate, as the Aquila's rotary autocannon sent a murderous burst of 20-mm dust shells tearing into the night at a rate of a hundred rounds a second.

Had any of those hit, Jaune would have been annihilated, aura or no aura; the force imparted by each projectile was just too great, for even the enhanced durability of the best huntsmen to resist.

Anticipating the moment that the pilot would successfully readjust his aim, and line his firing trajectory up with Jaune's new position, Jaune changed directions again, this time thrusting his right hand out, to deflect his flight towards the left.

_! ! !_

Once more, Jaune escaped by the skin of his teeth, as another deadly burst of dust shells blasted through the spot he had previously occupied.

Jaune felt the shells, as they passed – as they sliced right through the aura-infused plume of fire being blasted from his right palm. His body would offer no more resistance than that, were he but a fraction of a second too slow, and were the shells to hit home.

Moving quickly, so as to get out of the readjusted firing trajectory that was almost certainly already zeroed in upon his current position, Jaune brought his arms together, and pushed them _down_ –

– such that a burst of force propelled him _up_, and above the attack to come.

_! ! !_

Yet another burst of fire cut through the area where he once was, and distantly, a building somewhere exploded, as the stray rounds hit some unintended targets.

Jaune was doing extremely well, so far, managing to avoid getting mangled by the strike fighter's autocannon.

However, it was time to end this, before the pilot adjusted to Jaune's greater manoeuvrability and began aiming at where Jaune _would_ be, and not just where he _was_.

The Aquila itself was now fast approaching, and about to pass right below Jaune. He was unlikely to ever get a chance better than this, and so Jaune pivoted onto the attack.

Gauging the staggering speed of the Aquila, and estimating where the aircraft was going to be in about two seconds, Jaune spun around mid-air, and shifted his hands so his palms now faced skywards.

And far from fighting gravity, the force of his fire now joined together with the inexorable pull of the earth, to brutally accelerate Jaune downwards –

– towards the Aquila passing beneath.

Bringing his right arm around, Jaune _punched_.

Aura-enhanced fist met fuselage –

– and the fuselage crumbled.

With a sick, screeching noise, the plane broke in half; the part with the cockpit spiralling to the earth beneath, and the other part with the engine spinning off and exploding.

Jaune's own momentum blew him right through the cloud of fire and smoke that formed, and it took some effort to right himself.

Leaning back, Jaune brought his legs around, so he was plummeting to the ground, feet first.

The fiery explosions beneath his feet and palms did the rest – initially slowing his descent, and then overcoming gravity altogether, to propel Jaune to a lofty hundred meters above the ground, where he settled into a comfortable hover.

From his position, Jaune could see the entire airbase, as well as the burning fragments of his fallen foe, falling to earth below.

The dizzying high from winning that epic dogfight of a duel hit him, then, and Jaune felt an awesome rush of pride – for the power that was his, and for the feat that he had just accomplished.

And in that moment, with the wind in his hair, and with fire in his hands, Jaune felt like he was more than any man, more than any king – and well the equal to the crushing task laid upon him by Ozpin.

But beyond even that, for the first time in his life, Jaune believed – _truly believed_ – that he was going to live up to the memory of his famous ancestor, and indeed, surpass her – by doing what she couldn't, and save the world.

-(=RWBY=)-


	14. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow IV

The warm light of noon filtered in through the clear glass windows of the restaurant, and Jaune allowed himself to relax, and enjoy the fact that the food was good, the alcohol better, and the company unexpectedly enjoyable.

Taking another sip of the rare, aged Mistralian whiskey, Jaune savoured the taste of pine and fruit and just a hint of smoke, as the amber liquid washed down his throat.

The cost of the bottle, needless to say, had been staggering – going well into the hundreds of lien – but seeing as it was Junior paying, Jaune had felt no misgivings about ordering the menu's most expensive foods and drinks.

Finishing the rest of his whiskey, Jaune put his glass down.

Already feeling a light buzz, Jaune spared a glance at the man furtively staring at him from a nearby table, before turning his attention to his lunch. With a fork, he picked up and gamely tried the thinly-sliced raw fish that was the restaurant's speciality, and which was – apparently – a Mistralian delicacy.

At the same time, Jaune scrolled through the news on his scroll. Most of it was run-of-the-mill stuff, from the resignation of a Valean assemblyman over credible accusations of sexual assault, to the expansion of a refundable tax credit scheme for low-income citizens. On the other hand, in foreign affairs, the news out of Mistral was extraordinarily worrying, with the Branwen tribe capturing yet another series of towns in southern Mistral. This was a new low, even for the legendarily ineffective Mistralian government; while Raven Branwen had long exercised de facto rule over the small villages and rural areas in southern Mistral, she had never yet taken a town – until now.

Of course, all this was happening half a world away, and Jaune had problems of his own to solve.

The latest one had brought him here, to a restaurant located just at the edge of the territory held by Junior's Axe Gang. As part of his promise to the gang leader to help him out in his turf wars against his rivals, Jaune had agreed to be seen publicly associating with the Axe Gang – thus signalling to rival gangs that Junior had a powerful huntsman ally, one who could brutally punish any aggression against Junior and his men.

"Melanie, I think our huntsman is getting bored of us."

"I think so too, Miltia. He seems to like staring at his scroll, instead of paying attention to the two beautiful women sitting right by his side."

With their pale skin, dark hair, and exceptional beauty, the Malachite sisters made even supermodels seem homely. His lunch companions for today, they had been bantering with each other, but now that he was being drawn in, Jaune was obliged to reply in kind.

Lazily looking around, he quipped,

"Beautiful women? Where? I would love to meet them."

That brought the anticipated reactions, as the twins smirked.

"Ooh, what sharp wit from the huntsman. Don't you think so, Melanie?"

"Oh yes, Miltia. Or maybe he just has no taste in women, after all that time hanging around cows with udders."

Jaune had to snort, at that.

"Are you guys really still not over Yang thrashing your place?"

Jaune hadn't known that his schoolmate was the huntress who had beat up Junior's gang and laid waste to his club, until Melanie had brought her up earlier in the conversation, when she asked him if he knew a certain 'blond-haired, big-tit Beacon bitch', to use the girl's colourful language. Nonetheless, he wasn't too surprised – Yang did like to club, and never had the best of tempers; had one of Junior's men tried to get fresh with her, faces would have been punched, and a brawl on the dance floor started.

The twins did not share his amusement, however, and it was with an aggrieved tone that Miltia and Melanie said, respectively,

"Do you know how many our men she injured? And how much it cost to repair the club?"

"Forget the men, and the club. That barbarian punched my sister into a pillar, kicked me in the face, _and_ ruined our favourite dresses."

Jaune rolled his eyes.

"Yes, the world weeps for your ruined dresses. As if you don't get new ones each week only to tire of them by the next – the way you treat your boy toys, no doubt."

Upon hearing this, the twins adopted an identical set of wicked smiles.

"Why, Melania, our huntsman seems to be interested in our love life."

"Very suspicious, Miltia. Maybe he wants to ask us out?"

"He could ask, but –"

"– we'll say no –"

"– because no self-respecting girl –"

"– would be seen dating a guy –"

"– wearing a Pumpkin Pete hoodie."

The Malachites finished each other's sentences flawlessly, their familiarity as twins giving them an almost telepathic ability to know what the other was about to say, and to deliver that burn seamlessly.

Jaune himself looked down ruefully at the rabbit on his sweatshirt, and gave the only reply he could,

"Please, you think this is bad? I used to own a Pumpkin Pete onesie."

The Malachite dissolved into snickers at that, though they did manage to choke out some further japes.

"He's a little bunny boy, Miltia!"

"Awwww."

The twins were grinning like Cheshire cats, and clearly enjoying themselves at his expense – but Jaune didn't mind. It was all in good fun, and more importantly, the man spying on them from a nearby table, on behalf of the rival Harmony Gang, got to see that there was a powerful huntsman who was on good terms with Junior's most trusted lieutenants – and who would be inclined to help punish any attacks upon the Axe Gang, were such to occur.

This wasn't what Jaune wanted to be doing with his free time, but he needed to stay in Junior's good graces, if he wanted to call upon the sort of illegal favours that would help him carry out the even more criminal tasks that Watts was setting him. And of course, while all this might require him to beat up some mobsters, Jaune was never going to kill them – which was more than what these men could expect from some of their fellow criminals. And while Jaune wasn't enthusiastic about supporting a criminal gang, he knew that his refusal to get involved would not stop Junior extorting the local businesses or preying on civilians; in contrast, to the extent that Jaune managed to intimidate the rival gangs into quiescence, violence in gang-controlled territories would subside, and fewer innocent civilians would get hurt over the greed of gangsters and the pride of criminals.

That was the conclusion that Jaune arrived at after thinking things through; though idly, he wondered if he wasn't getting too good at rationalizing his actions. It did not escape his attention that, bit by bit, he was getting more like Ozpin. Indeed, the reasoning he was using to justify himself here – that Junior was going to commit crimes anyway, and that it was better for Jaune to be around to minimize the resultant harm – was precisely the sort of counterfactual and morally fraught reasoning Ozpin had used to justify Jaune's involvement in the White Fang raid – that the Fang was going to successfully steal the gravity dust regardless, so it was better to have Jaune around to minimize the harm done.

_The raid._

Jaune's musings turned to his recent mission with the White Fang. It had ended successfully, Jaune's destruction of the strike fighter having allowed the remainder of the raid to proceed smoothly and without further difficulties – with the White Fang breaking into the target warehouse, moving a hundred tons of gravity dust onto ten trucks stolen from the airbase's own motor pool, and then hightailing it out there.

And while Jaune had managed to plant his tracking devices onto the purloined crates of dust, it remained a fact that the White Fang was currently in possession of enough military-grade explosives to blow up whole parts of Vale's central business district.

Jaune could only trust the authorities to do their job and keep track of the dust before any of it was used in an attack; if they didn't, the price of getting into Salem's good graces was going to be high indeed.

This was also far from the last morally questionable thing he was going to be engaged in; Watts had contacted him earlier in the day, to give him his next task.

_"There's an open seat in the Valean Assembly, and a coming election to decide who fills it. The district represented has a faunus majority, and we think a friend of yours is just the person to win it. Pay a visit to her in the hospital and convince her, will you?"_

Jaune shook his head to clear it; he could worry about the task later. For now, he had to deal with other matters.

"Oh yes –"

As Jaune refilled his glass of whiskey using the already half-empty bottle, he decided to move the conversation along.

"– why don't you guys tell me more about Junior's business? I've always heard he's deep into money laundering, but how does that work, exactly?"

This new topic wiped the smirks off the Malachite sisters' faces, and coldly, they retorted,

"Junior doesn't launder money –"

"– or commit any crimes."

"He's an honest businessman who owns a club –"

"– which got thrashed by an actual criminal."

The twins delivered the denial flatly, without a hint of discomfort in making so blatant a lie.

Jaune had to laugh, and it was in some mirth that he replied,

"Yes, and Yang might well be in jail, if Junior had actually filed a police report; strange, for a law-abiding citizen not to do so. But anyway, I'm genuinely curious about how something like money laundering works – maybe you can enlighten me, so I'll know what the criminals get up to, in contrast to our good friend Junior who only makes an honest living."

Jaune's reply induced the sisters to sniff, haughtily, though elsewise they reacted differently. Melanie rolled her eyes as well, and said,

"Ask my sister – she likes knowing nerdy things."

Miltia glanced at her twin with some irritation, but did begin launching into an explanation.

"If some criminals – like the Harmony Gang –"

Jaune hid a smile at the offhand barb.

"– earn some money illegally, like through selling drugs, the gang needs to make that dirty money look like it came from a clean, legal source. Otherwise, the police will start asking questions about where you got your money from, and that's how you end up in prison."

Miltia then took out a scroll, fiddled with it for a few seconds, and then raised it up for Jaune to see.

"Here's a piece of art. How much do you think it's worth?"

Jaune peered at the senseless riot of colour that was the painting, before shrugging.

"Don't know. Look like some random paint bomb went off on a canvas, to be honest."

His blunt observation was met by Miltia gesture with her scroll, as if in emphasis.

"That painting was sold for almost five hundred million Atlesian lien."

Jaune sucked in a breath.

"That much?"

"That much. Because that's art – it's all subjective, and paintings are worth whatever people say they're worth. So if you have one hundred million dollars in dirty drug money, you can buy some fancy painting that's being sold at an auction house for ten million – and then set up a fake buyer who uses your dirty drug money to buy it from you for a hundred million, with no one thinking it too strange."

"And bam –"

Again, Melanie interjected.

"– that's a fuckton of clean money you can spend."

Miltia nodded in agreement.

"Then there are casinos. You buy chips with cash, you play a few games, you win some and lose some – and _then_ you cash in your remaining chips as clean winnings."

As Miltia finished speaking, Melanie threw back a shot of whiskey, before adding,

"We've been to the casinos in Wind Path, and you can really tell who's there to do their laundry. Those guys play like pussies – not like the real gamblers, who blow insane amounts while trying to get the thrill of winning big."

Miltia looked side-eye at her sister.

"Yes, Wind Path... I remember someone got so drunk she threw up on the blackjack dealer and then tried fighting the fifteen bouncers who turned up."

Melanie only shrugged flippantly.

"Don't remember that."

"I wouldn't remember it either, if my brain had been this close to dying from alcohol poisoning."

"Girls, girls."

Jaune inserted himself into the argument, so as to steer it back on course.

"Miltia, you were saying?"

Miltia Malachite gave her sister a final, unimpressed look, before turning back to Jaune.

"Anyway... beyond casinos, there's also the good old-fashioned way of money laundering, using businesses that use a lot of cash, and where it's hard to track how much you really earn. Restaurants, car washes, arcades –"

"Clubs, as well?"

Jaune couldn't resist getting that jab in, and his reward was a frosty look from Miltia – though Melanie seemed somewhat amused, if the way she hid a snicker as a cough was any indication.

Regardless, Jaune was quite pleased with the way the conversation had turned out. What he had learnt was interesting enough, of course, but far more importantly, the entire exercise had allowed Jaune to signal to the Harmony Gang spy nearby that he was well aware of Junior and the Malachites being involved in criminal activity, and yet was associating with them all the same time. This suggested that he wasn't bothered by their criminality, nor too hung up about mere legalities – all of which suggested that he would be rather likely to help Junior out, were the man to request aid in punishing attacks upon the Axe Gang.

"So, like, that's the basic idea of money laundering. You're interested?"

Miltia finished her explanation, but also threw in some shade at his inquisitiveness at the end.

Jaune took a long draught from his whiskey glass, and let the smooth liquid wind its way down his throat, before replying.

"Not really, no. Though since you mentioned Wind Path, it made me remember that I've always wanted to visit Mistral one day."

One of the perks of being a huntsman was that one got to travel far and wide, though that was something denied to Jaune for the foreseeable future. The various tasks Watts had planned for him – including the latest one – were all going to be carried out within Vale itself, which meant Jaune wasn't going to leave the city, let alone the country, any time soon.

Taking another long drink from his glass, Jaune began describing to the twins why he had always wanted to travel Mistral.

"Would be nice to visit the Candlelight Path in the Viridescent Forest, or Sky Lake on Everwhite Mountain, or the Bridge to the Stars... though I guess since the bridge is in south-eastern Mistral, you might have to fight your way through Branwen bandits to get there."

At this point, the Malachite sisters shared a look – one Jaune could not even begin to decipher.

Then, as one, the twins turned to him; and with more sombreness than he had ever seen them muster, they said, one after the other,

"No bullshit, Arc. Raven Branwen's dangerous."

Jaune knew the sisters were being deadly serious, when they were calling him by his name, and not by any mocking monikers like 'huntsman' or 'little bunny boy'.

"If you want to be in our business, you need to know the rules, and the one rule above all is – you don't mess with Raven Branwen."

Appreciating that the twins were warning him in good faith, and trying not to seem ungrateful for advice – even if he honestly thought the counsel trite – Jaune said, mildly,

"Don't worry, I know how dangerous the most powerful huntress in the world is."

A Champion in her time, and after her defection the most wanted criminal alive, Raven Branwen was by all accounts the single strongest living being on Remnant – a fact readily apparent, when over the course of a dozen years Mistral sent one Champion after another to kill the bandit-queen, only for the traitor to duel each in turn, and every time come out triumphant.

And all this before she acquired the powers of a Maiden; and so Jaune believed Ozpin, when the man had confided that Raven Branwen was second in strength only to Salem.

Unaware of his ruminations, the twins shared yet another glance with each other, before firing off a seamless explanation made in collaboration.

"You don't understand, Arc."

"You really, _really_ don't."

"The bitch could kill you with sword and dust sorcery, but that's not the point."

"She's has an army of elite huntsmen, bigger than any Kingdom's."

"Turns out if you're forced into a bandit army and forced to fight for your life everyday –"

"– you get really strong, really quick."

"And it's not some third-rate extortion racket she's running."

"Junior says it's an ideal she's selling."

"She tells the peasants –"

"'_It's my job to protect you_ –'"

"'– _and yours to obey._'"

"And the peasants _like_ it."

"Because it _protects_ them."

"Keeps them safe."

"And they know Raven Brawen could do worse."

"Just take, whatever she wants, whenever she wants.

"But she _doesn't_."

"And they respect that."

"Besides, this deal Branwen offers them?"

"It's better than what they used to get from Mistral."

"Which is _nothing_."

"Random raids from bandits; no help when plague kill half the village; Grimm attacks, left unchecked."

"Yeah, bitch-queen's deal is much better."

"So maybe it's basically a feudal contract –"

"– but still –"

"– but they like it –"

"– like _her_ –"

"– and so long as Mistral doesn't understand that –"

"– southern Anima is _all hers_."

"Take it from us –"

Miltia stopped speaking, suddenly, and Jaune looked at her quizzically.

It was then that someone else spoke.

"Heh. Why are you kids talking 'bout my dear old sister?"

A rough voice, harsh like the sound of stone on sandpaper, interrupted their conversation.

The Malachites themselves were silent, their eyes glued to the man standing behind Jaune.

With a pretty good idea of who exactly was here to interrupt their lunch, Jaune turned his head around, and said, shortly,

"Mr Branwen."

"Arc."

The unshaven, shoddily dressed man plopped himself down onto an empty chair, before reaching for the whiskey bottle.

Drinking straight from it, Branwen quaffed down a ludicrous – and indeed, dangerous – quantity of the hard liquor, before releasing the bottle from his lips, and giving a contented sigh.

"Aaah, that's good stuff. You sure know how to pick 'em, kid. How much did it cost?"

Jaune told him, and the man blanched.

"What a scam. Here's a tip, from an actual alcoholic to an aspiring one – look for the stuff that gives the most grams of alcohol per lien. Saves you a lot of money, in the long run."

Then, Branwen paused, and frowned, as if a thought just occurred to him.

"Well, guess it doesn't matter, since us alcoholics die too early to have to worry about retirement or any of that boring stuff."

With anyone else, Jaune would have enjoyed the banter; but right now, he was anything but pleased.

"What do you want, Branwen?"

Ozpin had been very clear – he wanted the infiltration mission kept from everyone else in his inner circle, for fear that one of them was a traitor who had turned his cloak to Salem.

Jaune didn't think it was Qrow Branwen, but then again he couldn't conceive of Glynda Goodwitch or any of the headmasters having betrayed humanity to the Queen of the Grimm. Cinder Fall herself, for obvious reasons, couldn't be the spy – which made Jaune wonder if Ozpin was not being overly paranoid.

"Why'd you think I want anything, kid?"

Branwen took another draught of whiskey, though this time he was somewhat more civilized about it, by pouring the alcohol into a glass, rather than drinking the liquid straight from the bottle.

"Did Ozpin send you?"

Branwen shook his head.

"Nah. Though if you apologized to him, and admit you fucked up, he'll rescind your expulsion, and take you back into Beacon, no problem. Glynda argued really strongly about giving you a second chance, you know – but old Oz was adamant; said you were unrepentant, so how can he trust you to make the right calls in future missions?"

As Branwen spoke, Jaune forced his somewhat alcohol-dulled mind to focus; he had to stay sharp, and avoid giving away the impression that he was not as estranged from Ozpin as he was meant to be – for that would run the risk of hinting that Jaune was being deceptive in his dealing with Watts and Salem.

Ozpin himself had done an excellent job in making Jaune's expulsion plausible. The public was fooled readily enough, by the story of his reckless abandonment of his teammates in favour of glorious single-combat with the Necrovalock.

Meanwhile, Winter Schnee – who might have been suspicious, given how her sister had made no mention of Jaune's recklessness during the initial flight back from Rothenburg – was dealt with easily, just by having Weiss lie to her, and say that she had not wanted to blame Jaune when he was still comatose from the Seer attack.

And as for the inner circle, all of whom knew just how powerful Hazel Rainart had been, and hence how strong Jaune was, Ozpin had emphasized that strength wasn't everything – that there was no point retaining a powerful huntsman who showed no regret over abandoning his teammates, and who could not be trusted to do the right thing by the people he was charged with protecting.

With all that in mind, Jaune was eager not to undermine the headmaster's masterful deception; and so, he summoned all the venom he could muster, and spat –

"I'll rather kill myself than apologize to Ozpin, because I've done nothing wrong at all."

Qrow Branwen listened to Jaune silently, before cocking his head in manner not unlike his corvid namesake, and saying,

"Huh. Well, I ain't unsympathetic, kid. People die during Grimm attacks, all the time. That's just life. You did what you could, and maybe it wasn't the best, but best is hard to recognize when you have Beowolves and Grimm cultists up your ass.

"Just saying – if you want back in, door's open."

Qrow Branwen said all that in a relatively conciliatory tone of voice; but then, his eyes sharpened, and his voice hardened, when he next said,

"Real question is, what's a huntsman like you doing with criminal scum like the Axe Gang? No offence –"

He nodded to the stony-faced sisters.

"– to present company. "

Branwen's eyes focused on Jaune's; his vermillion orbs, boring into azure ones.

Jaune found his own eyes tightening in displeasure that was only half-fake.

"I'm keeping the peace, that's what. Maybe that wouldn't have been necessary if the Valean authorities actually did their job and suppressed the criminal underground, but since they don't, here we are. I'm doing Junior a favour –"

Jaune gestured to the twins, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"– and punishing any attacks on the Axe Gang; and if that means all the thugs being too afraid to start trouble, that's the streets made safer."

Jaune said all that, not just for Branwen, but for the benefit of the Harmony Gang spy listening nearby. This was as close as he got, to an explicit warning to the rival gangs – to not make trouble, lest Jaune came for them.

Qrow Branwen, however, was singularly unimpressed. Making a contemptuous noise while scrunching up his face, he then said,

"Sounds like something my sister would do. You kick the asses of all the gangsters and bandits in the area, and call it peace... except _you're_ an outlaw yourself, the biggest there is, crushing the people under your boot."

Branwen drained the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

"You –"

"If you don't like her, then why don't you stop her?"

Jaune's voice was soft, but the intent behind it was unmistakeable.

Qrow Branwen froze, whiskey glass in the air midway between mouth and table.

Slowly, he put it down, before growling,

"Watch it, kid."

"Or what, you'll kill me? You're welcome to try, just like Rainart did. Wonder where he is now, though?"

Qrow Branwen looked at Jaune; _really_ looked at him. And for the first time in this conversation, Jaune felt that the man was taking him seriously – treating him as a potential equal and enemy, not just a kid to be humoured, or a former student to be protected.

"You –"

Branwen's voice was soft.

"– really are like my sister."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It ain't. It means you're strong, and think you can challenge the world – but the world's not so easy to beat, pal."

Branwen grabbed the whiskey bottle on the table, and drained what was left of it.

"Also – I heard you and Lil' Miss Malachite's girls talking about Raven earlier. All that stuff, about how's she's so strong, so clever – but what the news don't tell you is this. My sis? She's a coward, plain and simple."

Jaune found himself frowning, and before Branwen could get another word in, he interjected,

"She's the most powerful human on Remnant. Even if we think she's evil for leading a pack of murderers and thieves, you don't get to where she is without risking your life fighting a lot of strong people, Champions and all."

"Yeah. My sister's fought the best of 'em, and killed 'em dead – but not because she's brave; it's because she's _afraid_. She's scared of losing, of dying, so she trained herself to become the strongest a human can be."

Branwen paused, before quietly adding,

"Or even stronger, maybe."

_Maiden._

Jaune knew what he was talking about, even if Branwen thought him ignorant. And it reinforced what Jaune already knew – under no circumstances was he ever going to fight the bandit-queen, because that was a battle he was never going to win.

Putting the whiskey bottle back onto the table carelessly, Qrow Branwen continued by saying,

"Got herself an army too. And made some people call her queen. But she is who she is – a coward too afraid to risk her life for anything."

The man stood, and turned to leave.

But even as he took a step towards the exit, he paused, and turned his head back slightly.

"Oh yeah. Glynda's worried about you, and wanted me to say – even if you're expelled from Beacon, it doesn't mean you should give up on education. Go to university, go study. Learn something, anything."

He shrugged.

"Or not. And end up like me."

He gave a darkly humorous grin.

"Good luck with life, kid. You'll need it."

-(=RWBY=)-


	15. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow V

Qrow left after saying his piece, but the whole conversation had left a sour taste in Jaune's mouth.

It also made the rest of lunch a far more reserved affair, as even the Malachites could sense his mood, and chose to chat with each other over poking at him for their own amusement, as they had been doing earlier.

Then, once lunch was over, Jaune bade farewell to the sisters; his task here was done, the message to the rival gangs sent – and it was time to move on to his next task.

Leaving the restaurant, Jaune walked to the closest Valean metro station. From there, he took the train to his destination – another area in the industrial district, and a place not too far from where he himself lived.

Lacking his armour, and with a beanie over his hair and a hoodie pulled over his head, Jaune was largely unrecognizable to the public – thus sparing him the glares and glances he would otherwise have drawn. The train journey thus passed in relative peace, giving Jaune the chance to gather his thoughts and think on how to approach this next task from Watts.

...

He had to confess – he had no good answers.

It was with an agitated frame of mind that Jaune that finally arrived at the station that was his destination. Still mulling things over, he set an unhurried pace.

And distracted though he might have been, Jaune's huntsman training kept him alert to his surroundings; he did not fail to notice that this neighbourhood was – somehow – even rougher than the one where he lived. The buildings were run-down, bothering on the derelict, while groups of hard-looking young faunus men hung around the sidewalks and corners.

"Oi! Human!"

One man detached from his group of friends, and began stalking aggressively towards Jaune.

Too late, Jaune realized – being one of the strongest huntsmen alive was no deterrent in itself; one had to look the part, too, else fools would still challenge you. And bereft of armour and sword – the latter being something he could no longer legally carry, given the loss of his trainee huntsman licence – he looked little more than an ordinary citizen; weak, vulnerable, and ripe for the robbing.

"You lookin' for trouble, comin' here?"

Eyes narrowed and shoulders set, the man strode forward relentlessly, and Jaune took a moment to consider his options.

He had faced this very sort of situation the day of Pyrrha's funeral, when some drunk thug attacked him. For that, Jaune had the broken man's arm, and shattered his nose – a more brutal response than was strictly needed, Jaune could admit given the benefit of hindsight. He could have subdued the man without any serious injuries, but his poor mood from the funeral in particular – and life in general – had made him disinclined towards mercy.

Now, however...

Looking to assert his dominance, the faunus came in for a punch –

– which Jaune caught, easily.

Then, applying as much strength as was safe to use, Jaune _squeezed_, crushing the man's closed fist with his aura-enhanced fingers.

"Arrrgh!"

The man's scream reminded Jaune far too much of the raid on the airbase, when he had crushed forearms and smashed legs. That, along with the fact that applying force for any longer risked causing serious damage, made Jaune let go after mere seconds.

Released, the faunus man staggered back, clutching his injured hand in his uninjured one.

His friends were caught off guard, though only for a second; in the next, they all rushed forward, shouting in anger and seeking to avenge their comrade.

It was a difficult fight, for all the wrong reasons. Jaune had to use aura, just in case one of these men got the bright idea of pulling out a knife and stabbing him in the back. But with the enhanced durability of aura came superhuman strength as well, Jaune in a situation where had to fight his own well-honed combat instincts, and suppress the physical boost his aura sought to give – just so he could pull his punches, and avoid badly hurting anyone.

Pre-emptively going on the offence, Jaune brought his right fist around and punched one man in the face – breaking his nose, and causing blood to spurt everywhere.

Then, spinning around, Jaune use his left forearm to brush aside the second man's wild haymaker of a punch, before transiting into a left jab that caught the man right on the chin.

By this time, the third man had circled around to Jaune's back; an excellent move, that gave him an open line of attack on Jaune's vulnerable back –

– but Jaune was a trained huntsman, and these men were not. With a casual glance to the back, Jaune read the incoming attack, and took the necessary countermeasures.

Stepping to the side, Jaune dodged the incoming punch, before throwing his elbow around and smashing the man in his temple.

The fourth man, smarter than his friends, saw that melee combat was a lost cause; but stupider than them, he decided to escalate rather than escape.

His hand went for the pistol at his waist; and the glint of dark metal against the light of day gave Jaune enough warning that he stopped treating the fight as a game of no stakes.

Jaune's mind whirled, as he considered all his possible options.

His initial instinct was to dodge the first shot, then come in with a disabling blow –

– but there were people behind him on the street, and letting a shot be fired was too great a risk.

His next instinct was to do lash out with a kick at both gun and hand, to simultaneously knock the former away while incapacitate the man –

– but that could well mean crippling his opponent for life.

That left only one option.

His aura-enhanced physical capabilities kicked into full gear, and Jaune blurred forward well in time to grab the gun before it fired.

_BANG!_

The pistol fired, into Jaune's aura-protected palm, and he winced from the terrible pain that started radiating from the centre of his left hand.

Pushing through the pain, Jaune grabbed the pistol and pulled it away, out of the hand of the gangster who had just tried to murder him.

The shooter himself had frozen; he wasn't dim enough to have failed to realize that his opponent was almost certainly a huntsman, and that he himself was in for a world of hurt.

Without speaking a word, Jaune kicked the man in the his groin – and sending him collapsing to the ground.

Shaking his left hand to dissipate the intense pain that had resulted from the gunshot – and gauging the aura loss at no more than a few percent of his total – Jaune glanced down in distaste at the firearm he was now holding.

Jaune didn't like guns. It was the martial snobbery that came from being part of a long line of famed swordsmen, but on a practical level, guns were also – in Jaune's view – less than useful. They were both too deadly and not deadly enough – fatal against civilians, but incapable of swiftly putting down huntsmen through their aura, in comparison to Anra steel.

Seeing no reason to keep the weapon for himself, Jaune began disassembling it.

Magazine; slide; follower; barrel; and frame – Jaune separated the pistol into its component parts, before tossing all of them away save for the frame, which he kept for now, so he could toss it away into a trash bin later.

"Gentlemen. It's been a pleasure making your acquaintance."

With the sarcasm gotten out of his system, Jaune took his leave, heading down the road towards his destination.

On the way, he discarded the pistol frame into an open trash bin, but beyond that, he faced no other interruptions, as he made his way to where his conspirator for the coming task awaited.

The headquarters of Faunus Justice Party was located in a dingy old shophouse – one of those buildings where the first floor was a shop, and where the second and third floors housed the owner's living quarters, or sometimes another business.

There were stairs leading up to the upper floors. Peering at the grimy nameplate by the stairwell, Jaune confirmed that he was in the right place, before making his way up.

The stairs creaked as he ascended, so much so it almost sounded like the whole structure was about to collapse under its own weight.

Coming to the second floor landing, Jaune knocked on the door he found there, before pushing his way in.

The office within was cramped; desks were everywhere, pushed up tight against one another, even as stacks of documents lay all around, taking up most of the space on the desks themselves.

It being a Saturday, no one was around – save for one man.

With light brown skin, a red hood, and a large bushy tail that wagged behind him, there was no mistaking his identity.

As Corsac Albain stood from his desk near the window, Jaune greeted him,

"Mr Albain, I presume. I'm Jaune Arc."

"Ah, yes. Mr Arc. Thank you for coming."

Jaune wound his way through the maze of desks and chairs, to reach the area near the window where Albain had his desk.

He offered his hand, and Albain took it, for a brief but firm handshake.

"Please, do sit, Mr Arc."

"Just _Jaune_ is fine."

"Then I insist you call me _Corsac_ as well."

"Corsac, then. Pleased to meet you."

"And you as well, Jaune. Please, take a seat; let's not stand on ceremony."

Corsac's voice was deep but soft; authoritative, yet unthreatening. It was pleasant to listen to, and with the man's politeness, made Jaune already inclined to like him –

– which was precisely why Jaune resisted the impulse, and instead resolved to treat Corsac with a healthy heaping distrust. Corsac Albain was a professional political operative, whose agenda did not necessarily align fully with Jaune's own convictions, for all that Jaune was sympathetic to the cause of faunus rights. Even without Watts's warning that Corsac and his brother had some known ties to the White Fang, Jaune would never have fully trusted the man now sitting placidly before him, his hands clasped and his eyes friendly.

As Jaune sat down on a rickety old chair across the table from Corsac, the man spoke, once more.

"You come highly-recommended from our mutual friend, the good doctor, but I would like to hear, from your own mouth – why are you helping us?"

Jaune nodded, before giving his reply.

"It's not complicated. I've always been sympathetic to the faunus in their fight for justice and equal rights; it's hard not to be, if you know what went on – what _is_ going on – in the Atlesian dust mines. And now that I'm no longer a huntsman –"

Jaune let an edge enter his voice, to display the bitterness the public expected of him.

"– I have plenty of free time, and I don't mind lending a hand to people fighting for freedom and justice."

Corsac nodded understandingly.

"I see."

Jaune raised a palm, to forestall any interruptions; before they moved on to other matter, there was an important point he had to make sure Corsac Albain understood.

"But right at the outset, let's make one thing clear, Corsac. My help to you depends on your organization being genuinely peaceful; if I find out that any of your colleagues are White Fang –"

Jaune didn't get to finish his threat, but then again he didn't need to – for the mere mention of the terrorist organization's name made Corsac bring his arms up placatingly, and say,

"Not to worry, Jaune; none of us here are White Fang – on that you can depend."

"I sincerely hope so."

The warning wasn't just to keep the extremists out of the electoral campaign Jaune had agreed to help out with; it was also to prevent his public identity from being linked to his illegal, clandestine support for the White Fang.

_What a disaster it'll be, if someone like Ilia ends up being one of the campaign volunteers; there's just too high a chance that she'll recognize me._

Seeking to drive home the point, Jaune warned,

"I'm deadly serious, Corsac. I'll know if they're Fang; aura never lies."

Ordinary civilians did not have their auras unlocked. The emotions of those with unlocked auras burned far brighter to the Grimm, and having civilians with aura only helped draw the dark monsters down upon a population centre – an unacceptable risk. It was, therefore, a basic norm of society – one more fundamental than almost any other – that those who could not contribute to the defence of a village or town or city when the Grimm attacked, also did not have the privilege of having a physical manifestation of their soul.

Even the selfish, who would be tempted to prioritize their own safety over the general good, respected this norm – not least because an unlocked aura alone did not protect a person from harm. Without proper training of the sort that huntsmen underwent, civilians could not project a defensive cloak out of their aura, and would not have any better chance of surviving, were they shot by a gangster or smashed into by a drunk driver.

And of course, trained or not, those with aura were legally treated like huntsmen, and liable for conscription in the event of a titan-class Grimm invasion – a chilling prospect, sufficient to deter even the most irresponsible from trying to get their aura unlocked.

All that meant that the ordinary man on the street lacked aura, and the only people beyond huntsmen who would have theirs unlocked were those involved in dangerous, illegal businesses – criminals, like the Axe Gang, or terrorists, like the White Fang.

Corsac himself, Jaune could sense, had his aura unlocked; the man had formerly been a huntsman in Menagerie, according to the information Watts had provided. If a good number of the people working in or volunteering for the Faunus Justice Party turned out to have their auras unlocked as well, however – that could not be explained away, and Jaune would know that they were Fang, in truth even if not in name.

Corsac, well aware of all this, seemed nonetheless unfazed.

"I understand, Jaune. When you get to meet my colleagues, you can tell for yourself; they are no soldiers of Sienna."

Corsac's confidence was reassuring; it appeared he had nothing to hide, and so Jaune gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Thank you."

As he said that, Jaunce glanced to the side, at a framed photograph of a younger Corsac and his old huntsman team. His curiosity piqued, Jaune asked,

"Why did you leave Menagerie, Corsac? Surely life in the Kingdoms, even one as liberal as Vale, is much tougher, with far more daily discrimination to be endured."

Corsac's eyes roamed over to the photograph. Giving a fond smile as he looked upon himself, his brother and their other two teammates, he then moved to explain.

"Despite its idyllic, tourist-friendly beaches, Menagerie is no paradise; the economy is under-developed, poverty is rampant, and life is hard. But even if I could live a life of luxury back home, I would not do so – not while my brothers and sisters suffer in the four Kingdoms."

Corsac waved a hand, before launching into what was doubtlessly a well-trodden topic for him.

"Faunus everywhere are discriminated against. Even in liberal Vale, my people suffer. We get stopped and searched by the police on the streets, even when we've committed no crime – and how often have we seen these stops turn to tragedy, with my brothers shot senselessly? And we are arrested at higher rates, even for the victimless crime of possessing drugs. And we are punished harder, and sent to prison longer, compared to humans who have committed the same crime. Tell me – where is the justice in that?"

While recounting this litany of injustices, Corsac never raised his voice; but still, the anger he felt was clear, from the tenseness around his eyes and the tightness which he spoke.

As the silence continued, Jaune realized that Corsac was not being rhetorical; he was expecting an answer.

Easily, Jaune replied,

"None. So that's why you're here? To bring about political change, for the better?"

The fox faunus nodded, even as his tailed bobbed behind him.

"Yes. And that is not easy. We faunus can vote, but we are in the minority, and even then the humans seek to disenfranchise us at every turn. Have you heard of the term _gerrymandering_?"

Jaune nodded. He had prepared himself for the mission by reading up on the relevant issues, and wasn't a political neophyte besides. He had always paid attention to politics; and with some fondness, he could recall how it was his analysis of Beacon's political situation that persuaded Ozpin to let him participate in initiation. And of course, there were few things Weiss loved better, than to lecture him about politics – or rather, complain about it.

Thus, to Corsac's question, Jaune confidently replied –

"I understand what that is."

Corsac raised a hand, and gestured at Jaune.

"Please, do explain then."

"Is this a test?"

"Of a sort. Apologies, but even with the good doctor's recommendation, I need to know you are aware of the stakes – and that you are clever and knowledgeable enough to sway the person who needs to be swayed."

Jaune shrugged.

"Sure. Gerrymandering's the manipulation of an electoral district's boundaries, for unfair political gain. Splitting your opponent's voters across multiple districts, where they can't reach a majority to elect anyone... or packing them all into a single district, where for all their votes, they can only elect one assemblyman."

Corsac nodded approvingly, and Jaune took that as a sign to continue.

"So like, say, you have three residential districts, each one with about a hundred thousand people. Humans live in two of the districts, while faunus live in the last one. If you have three assembly seats, the natural way to portion them out is to give one to each residential district. This also produces a fair result, because two-thirds of the voters are human, getting two-thirds of the assembly seats; and one-third are faunus, getting one-third of the seats.

"But if you want to get an unfair advantage, you could do this – split off a third of the faunus district, then join them to another third of one of the human districts, along with another third of the last human district. This new artificial district is two-thirds human and one-third faunus, so obviously the human candidate wins the election, every time. Then you do the same for the other remaining two-thirds of the faunus district – so that even though faunus make up one-third of the overall population, they end up being a minority in each of the three new artificial districts, and getting zero assembly seats rather than one."

Jaune nodded, to signal the completion of his explanation.

Corsac himself inclined his head, before adding –

"Quite right. _Cracking_ – that's one form of gerrymandering. And _packing_ is the other – putting all the faunus into a single district, where they can only elect one assemblyman... even while the other human-majority districts, each with less people, get to collectively elect more representatives. _This_ particular district, for _this_ by-election? It's been packed to death; three hundred thousand people, most of them faunus, and only one assemblyman between them."

"I understand."

The reason Jaune was here was to carry out a second task from Watts – to help the Faunus Justice Party win this election, by persuading their desired candidate to stand. And while Jaune didn't quite understand why Watts was aiding Corsac and his FJP, Jaune was not averse to helping – for here was an injustice, ripe for the correcting.

And as for the candidate the FJP wanted...

_Blake._

Watts believed, for good reason, that his teammate's very name and parentage would win her massive support amongst the faunus.

Not wanting to expose his teammate – one recently recovered from near fatal injuries, no less – to any further danger, Jaune sought to clarify what Corsac had planned for her.

"And what –"

_! ! !_

Jaune's aura sense prickled, and his words died in his mouth.

_Danger._

Springing up, Jaune was about to dash for the door, to head off the four attackers he could sense storming up the stairwell –

– but then Corsac grabbed him, and hissed,

"No! Let me handle this."

Jaune hesitated, which decided matters in any case.

The door to the second floor was kicked off its hinges, and four huntsmen stormed in.

"Hands up!"

The leader, a wiry man armed with a sniper rifle, shouted the command even as his team – variously armed with a rocket launcher, a ludicrous mine-plated full suit of armour, and a shotgun – spread out across the room.

The police badges wrapped around the intruders' forearms made clear the identity of the institution they were contracted to, and under whose authority they were ostensibly acting.

Corsac obeyed, raising his hands and showing he was neither armed nor hostile.

Jaune, however –

Striding forward, and always making sure to keep himself between Corsac and the large-calibre sniper rifle, Jaune felt a frown deepen upon his face.

Harshly, he snapped,

"What's the meaning of this?"

Jaune wasn't shot straight away, which was good, but there were still three barrels pointed at his face.

The leader, however, seemed taken aback, and his rifle seemed to lower an inch, as he muttered,

"Arc?"

Corsac chose that moment to interject.

"My friends, this must be a misunderstanding. Come, let us sit down and talk things out – peacefully."

It was as good a suggestion as any, but it went ignored; as the rest of his team continued to train their weapons on Jaune, the leader directed a question to Jaune –

"Jaune Arc. The Beacon student who got his teammate killed. Huh. What are you doing here, talking to a terrorist-lover?"

Having no patience for such outright prejudice, Jaune bit back,

"I don't see any terrorist-lovers here – only terrorists, pointing their weapons at two innocent people. We were having a peaceful chat like civilized people, until you barged in."

The jab made the huntsman team bristle, but the leader himself only stated, coldly,

"We're in here with probable cause, to investigate a suspicious gathering."

_Ah._

The truth hit Jaune, and he laughed, derisively.

"You sensed two people with unlocked auras in here, and just from that thought that it had to be two White Fang members meeting each other?"

It was one thing to suspect the Faunus Justice Party of being linked with the White Fang, if a large number of its workers and volunteers had aura for no discernible reason; it was another thing altogether, to assume – with no further evidence – that the two aura-capable people meeting inside the party headquarters were terrorists. The latter was stupidity of the highest degree – and just plain bigotry.

"Peace, Jaune."

Corsac put a hand on Jaune's shoulder, while directing his next words to the huntsman team's leader.

"If you wish to bring me in for questioning, I will be happy to oblige. My young friend here, however, is surely beyond suspicion – unless you think a person who slaughtered the White Fang to save a Schnee is helping Sienna's merry band of terrorists?"

Jaune snorted – if only Corsac knew.

The huntsman leader, meanwhile, seemed to be in agreement with Corsac's words.

"You come with us, then, Albain. You, Arc – piss off."

Jaune did not move.

That made the huntsman team shift their weapons, and Jaune could feel violence being imminent; and despite knowing better, he _welcomed_ it, in all its clarifying brutality.

Corsac, once more, tried to intercede.

"Jaune, this sort of low level harassment is nothing new to me. I will be fine. I have never broken the law, and so have nothing to fear."

Jaune glanced back at the red hooded man, and raised an eyebrow,

"Weren't you just telling me how faunus get unfairly treated by the justice system?"

Corsac smiled, thinly.

"Yes. But when you have lived an exemplary life, and have never done anything remotely criminal, they can't charge you with a crime – only waste your time with pointless police interviews and endless interrogations."

Jaune considered that, for a moment –

– before turning away.

"No."

The declaration came out, flat and cold. And to the wary huntsmen, he said,

"You came in thinking there were two White Fang members in here; well, as it turns out, you were wrong – it was just a famously anti-Fang human talking to a peaceful faunus leader. If you decide to drag Corsac Albain back with you to the police station anyway, and the public finds out, you'll be in trouble. The faunus – and quite a lot of fair-minded humans – will be upset. Even if you don't care for their outrage, it can affect the contracts your team will be allowed to take.

"And for what? Is this guy a threat?"

Jaune jerked a thumb at the unassuming, unthreatening fox faunus.

"No, he's not. If there were any evidence at all that he's involved in White Fang terrorism, he would already be in jail, not sitting in an office planning a political campaign."

"And besides –"

Jaune discarded all subtlety here.

"– to get to him, you'll have to get through me. So the –"

Jaune did not get to finish his question, before the huntsman team's leader made a contemptuous noise in his throat, and said,

"Big words from a small boy. You got expelled from Beacon, and that qualifies you to fight a professional huntsman team?"

Jaune nodded agreeably.

"Yes, I got expelled from Beacon. Why? Because Headmaster Ozpin holds _me_ responsible for what happened in Rothenburg while I was off killing a Necrovalock. Think about that for a moment. He's treating me like someone whose strength is so immense, that my presence makes or breaks the village's defence. He thinks that _I_ could have fought off the horde of Grimm; that _I_ could have defeated the cultists – something a full team of professional huntsman had already tried and failed at.

"So the real question is – do you think you're more powerful than a Necrovalock? And do you think you're stronger than the monsters who killed Pyrrha Nikos?"

The silence stretched, as the unspoken threat lingered in the air.

The huntsman team, to the man, looked furious.

And, with growing clarity, Jaune could sense that his mix of threat and persuasion was failing – that anger was overtaking apprehension, and that the huntsmen were just about to toss Jaune's warning aside, and instead fight.

Jaune needed to stop that from happening; and so, on impulse, he stepped forward –

– and pressed his forehead into the barrel of the sniper rifle.

"What the fuck?"

The huntsman leader swore, but Jaune himself was nothing but calm.

"If you think you're stronger than me, take the shot."

"I'm not going to –"

"Do it."

"Are you fucking insane –"

"_Do it_."

The air was pregnant with the promise of violence –

– and then it was not, as the huntsman leader lowered his weapon.

With abhorrence, fear and confusion all warring upon his face, he snapped,

"Fuck this. Let's go, team. No reason to waste more time with this insane asshole.

The huntsman team followed their leader in lowering their weapons. And with similar emotions playing across their faces, they left – though not without gracelessly knocking chairs and desks aside, and making a mess with their exit.

Corsac sighed.

"You certainly have a unique way of solving problems, Jaune."

He sat down, once more, and Jaune joined him.

Corsac seemed to search for something to say, before appearing to finally decide on a particular notion. With that characteristically mild tone of his, he said,

"Do you see now, Jaune, what we are up against? A society that treats us like dirt; and heroes who are meant to protect us, but who only harm and harass."

Jaune shook his head.

"Those guys gave huntsmen a bad name."

Corsac bowed his head.

"Agreed. But this is why what we do here is paramount. We must use peaceful political action to build a better society, because every day this unjust status quo persists, more and more faunus are driven into the arms of the Fang."

Corsac paused; his next words seemed to catch in his throat. It was long seconds before he finally spoke once more, to say,

"I was part of the White Fang, once, back when it was still a peaceful organization. Everyone I knew, from High Leader Ghira Belladonna down to our youngest recruits, were all idealists. We believed in the innate goodness of humanity; we believed that peaceful protest and moral appeals could change minds, and give us faunus the rights we deserved. But –"

Corsac shook his head in sorrow.

"– we were wrong. We tried so long, and so hard, but failure was our only reward. The humans never gave us the time of day, and slowly, our people grew disillusioned. My brother and I are the only ones from the old guard still pursuing the path of peace; the others all gave up, and followed Sienna Khan as she led the way to war.

"And how can I blame them? Under Ghira Belladonna, we achieved nothing. Small wonder that, in the end, even his daughter chose Sienna and rejected him."

_What?_

Jaune jerked in surprise; the conversation had suddenly taken an unimaginable turn.

_Daughter?_

"Wait."

His voice suddenly hoarse, Jaune cut in.

"Are you saying that _Blake Belladonna_ is part of Sienna Khan's White Fang?"

Corsac nodded, firmly.

"Yes, though she left last year, when Taurus's brutality got too much for her."

Jaune was well and truly speechless.

He didn't know what to think, or what to feel.

Anger seemed natural; the Fang had kidnapped Weiss, and tried to torture her.

And yet, on the other hand, worry presented itself too; concern, for his bedridden teammate and the prospect of her going to prison.

But eventually, beating out anger and worry both, was a sublime, horrified awe. He had been puzzling over how to persuade Blake to stand as a candidate for the election – and here he had his solution, and here he had his weapon, if only he would reach out to grasp it.

Ozpin wouldn't have hesitated.

And _that_ gave Jaune pause.

He had no objection to ruthlessness – when it was _necessary_. To resort to it when it was merely expedient, however – that way lay tragedy.

_Am I so far gone that I'll reach for this, before trying anything else? And is Ozpin who I want to be? A man who sees people as puppets, and weakness in mercy?_

-(=RWBY=)-


	16. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow VI

Deciding to mull the ethics of emulating his headmaster some other time, Jaune continued his discussion with Corsac Albain all through the next hour, over the man's proposed approach to winning the coming by-election.

There were no obvious risks to Blake from the plan as described, but Jaune found himself harbouring deepening suspicions over Corsac's motivations all the same. Jaune didn't think that the revelation about Blake's history was just mere happenstance. In all probability, Corsac was hoping to get Jaune to bring the matter up with Blake – thereby conveying to her that Corsac knew her secret, and that if she didn't want it outed, she had to do him the favour of running as his candidate.

It was all a lot to process, so after Jaune concluded the meeting with Corsac, and began heading over to the hospital, he took the time to think things through.

On his way back to the train station, it began to rain.

Jaune could have taken shelter, and waited for the rain to pass, but he didn't want to be late, and so chose to forge onwards, heedless of the bad weather.

That was a decision he soon regretted, for in no time at all the drizzle became a deluge, and from the blackened heavens rain came pouring down, sheet after sheet of water pounding the ground.

And with the end of winter still weeks away, the storm was bitterly cold; it wasn't snow, nor even sleet, but all the same the temperature was but a few degrees above zero.

All this conspired to ensure that Jaune was shivering terribly, by the time he made it back to the train station.

It was to great relief when Jaune finally got to step through the station entrance, into the warm, heated air that circulated within the place.

As water continued trailing down his face, Jaune threw back the hood of his rain-drenched hoodie, and pulled off his thoroughly wet beanie. The rest of his cold, wet clothes clung to him still, but he had little choice but to soldier through. Ignoring the unpleasant way his hoodie stuck to his body, he dropped by the convenience store located at the station, to pick up a bouquet of flowers and some tuna; gifts, for whom he was visiting.

And with that out of the way, Jaune caught a train ride into town. It was a long journey, and inconvenient – not just from the stares his unconcealed face drew, but from the complicated navigation he had to undertake. The journey required first commuter rail – and a series of switches from one line to the next – before he could board a short-distance, rapid-transit line that finally brought him to his destination.

It being the commercial district, and a Saturday to boot, the train station he arrived at was crowded; and it was a packed platform and busy ticket gantry that Jaune walked through, as he tried locating the right exit.

The station was large, with multiple exits, but with the help of a series of signs, Jaune eventually managed to figure out where the exit leading to the Vale General Hospital was.

Taking that exit, he came up to street level once more. The rain had stopped, though the street was still wet, and slick, and littered with puddles all around.

Following a nearby covered walkway, Jaune began making his way onto the hospital grounds.

Everywhere, there were non-descript white buildings – par the course for hospitals, and utterly indistinguishable from each other save for the large name signs outside each.

Heart disease. Cancer. Ophthalmology. Dental.

The hospital's various specialist medical centres covered a number of areas, some less serious, others more so.

As Jaune made his way through the hospital grounds, he was overcome by a fit of morbid humour, and could not help but think –

_Well, at least I'll never need to come here._

He was under no illusions about the spy business he was caught up in – this game, where all moves entailed deceit and double-dealing, and where death was the price of failing.

He stood a good chance of dying, that much he knew – but not from anything as peaceful as cancer or heart failure; his was a more violent fate, involving perhaps a blade through the heart, or a bullet to the brain.

Chuckling to himself, Jaune found his mood paradoxically improved, as he entered the lobby of the hospital's main building, and joined the queue at the front desk.

Once his turn arrived, Jaune greeted the receptionist politely,

"Hi, my name's Jaune Arc. I believe you'll have my name down as a registered visitor for a Miss Blake Belladonna."

For all his politeness, Jaune was, in quick succession, subject to surprise, then distaste, and then finally a cool, wary detachment. All this happened in the span of mere seconds, as the receptionist realized who he was, failed to control her initial reaction, before eventually putting on the mask of professionalism.

"May I have some identification, sir?"

Jaune nodded, as he called up the virtual identity card on his scroll, before sending it over to the receptionist – who then began verifying his identity and registering his visit.

Running his hand through his damp hair, Jaune patiently waited for the registration to be done; which it was, with gratifying speed.

"Thank you, sir."

The receptionist looked up from her desk-mounted scroll and – almost looking regretful that he couldn't be turned away – gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You can head in. Second floor, the neurology ward, room seven. The lifts are that way."

Jaune nodded in acknowledgement, before heading in the direction the receptionist gestured towards. Tapping through the entry gantries – security being unexpectedly rigorous at this public hospital – he took one of the lifts up the second floor.

From there, Jaune began navigating his way to Blake's ward.

The corridors were wide and spacious in the hospital; all the better for gurneys and the like to be pushed around, he supposed. Walking through them for a while, Jaune then came upon an open area; to the left was the neurology wing, and to the right, there was the maternity ward.

Glancing at the latter, Jaune could not help but feel that its location was incongruous. The two wards made such a contrast – in one, people were dying; in the other, new life was getting brought into being.

Pushing these pointless thoughts aside, Jaune entered the neurology wing.

And perhaps it was the intensification of that distinctive hospital smell – that scent, of death and disinfectant – but Jaune found himself increasingly unnerved.

The prospect of dying didn't scare him; it couldn't, not after all he'd seen and done – but all the same, Jaune didn't like think too much about mortality. It reminded him of others dying, and consequently of his own failings.

Blake, in that sense, was just the latest in a long line of people he had been unsuccessful in saving. His teammate, of course, was still alive, but even so...

Jaune stopped by the reception area of the wing, and asked to be directed to room seven. The nurse was happy enough to oblige, and in short order, Jaune found himself standing in front of Blake's hospital room.

Jaune hesitated, just for a moment – before knocking lightly on the door, and pushing it open.

Blake Belladonna was sitting upright on the hospital bed, looking listlessly out of the window at a dull grey sky.

"Hey, Blake."

Jaune spoke quietly as he entered, but his words were sufficient to make Blake turn her head in surprise.

"Jaune."

The room was unbearable cold, but Jaune ignored the discomfort. Walking in, he deposited the flowers and the bag of canned tuna on a nearby table, before going over to the side of Blake's bed.

His old teammate looked gaunt and haggard; as was only to be expected, for a person who had barely escaped death not too long ago.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to visit. No one told me you had finally woken from the coma, and I only found out yesterday."

Blake brushed off his apology with a shake of her head.

"Don't worry about it. Just tell me what happened at Rothenburg."

_Rothenberg._

The word hung, heavy in the air.

What happened that fateful day made for unpleasant conversation, but Blake had – out of everyone alive – a right to know the truth, as much as was safe to share.

Dipping his head, Jaune said,

"Sure."

Pulling forward a nearby stool, he took a seat. Then, without further delay, he launched into a careful explanation of events as they had transpired.

"The Grimm attack wasn't just bad luck, Blake; it was engineered by a Grimm cultist called Hazel Rainart. Apparently, he has a grudge against Headmaster Ozpin, and is consumed by the idea of revenge against him; we got caught up in that, I think. I also suspect that Rainart helped cause the Domremy Collapse, during which my family died."

There was both dismay and sympathy in Blake's eyes, but Jaune did not dwell on them, instead continuing his account of what happened that day not so very long ago.

"For what it did, I killed Rainart. Wrecked the village in the doing, but I managed it all the same. Stabbed him right through the heart, and made him bleed to death as I watched."

It was poor consolation, whether for Blake, who had nearly died, or Pyrrha, who had – but it was all the comfort he could offer to his teammate.

Blake seemed to gladly accept it. Baring her teeth slightly, she said, sharply,

"Good."

There was real venom in her voice, and Jaune nodded in understanding. He would have hated Rainart too, in her position; there was no other emotion appropriate, against a man who had murdered your teammate and then skewered you with your own weapon."

"The village is safe. We succeeded, Blake, even if..."

He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

Blake too, grimaced, and said that which he could not say.

"Pyrrha died. I..."

Blake faltered. Swallowing nervously, she seemed to have to push through deep unease, before saying,

"I – I'm sorry, Jaune. I couldn't do anything to help her. That huge man was so _strong_, it was unreal. He caught us off guard, broke Pyrrha's aura with one punch, then with the second, he put a hole in... in..."

Blake choked up, and Jaune was feeling little better himself.

"I know, Blake. You don't have talk about that if you don't want to. I was there, afterwards. I saw what Rainart did to Pyrrha. I wished so hard, then, that it was just a nightmare; I really did... but it just wasn't."

Blake shook her head. After taking a few seconds to recover some measure of composure, she replied,

"No, it's fine, I'll continue. You need to know what happened. The man punched a hole right through Pyrrha's stomach. She died instantly, I think, so at least it wasn't... it wasn't too painful."

Jaune bowed his head. It was but a small solace, that Pyrrha hadn't suffered, but he would take would take whatever consolation was proffered.

"The man came after me next. I was frozen and couldn't react, and he just smashed me into the village wall, and then pinned me to it with Miló and Gambol Shroud. All I remembered after that was pain, before passing out."

Blake described all this in a very matter-of-fact manner, belying the sheer horror of what happened.

Jaune himself could still remember, that grotesque way Blake had been skewered to the wall; and at that moment, he could almost taste, fresh on his lips, the vomit he puked up back then.

Trying to be optimistic, Jaune decided to say,

"Still, you didn't die, Blake, and that's what matters."

The reminder, that she was at least alive, did nothing to cheer Blake up. Still as despondent as ever, she stated,

"I'm alive, but everything else is..."

Her remark petered out, as if the enormity of all that was wrong could simply not be put into words.

But in the end, just as Jaune suspected, she managed to focus on the most glaring issue, by asking,

"Jaune, why are you being blamed for the Grimm cultists' attack on Rothenburg? Why is the headmaster saying you abandoned us for glory, or whatever? Nothing like that happened – you went to stop the Necrovalock, while Pyrrha and I were successfully cleaning up the Grimm. Everything was fine until Rainart ambushed us. I _told_ the headmaster so when he visited last week, but he just didn't listen."

It was an unsurprising question for Blake to ask. She was one of the three people still alive who had first-hand experience of what went down in Rothenburg, and however compelling a yarn Ozpin spun for the general public, she was never going to swallow it.

Nonetheless, for all that Jaune appreciated Blake's righteous anger on his behalf, there was nothing good that could come of it.

Shrugging with deliberate dispassion, Jaune carefully said,

"Someone needs to take the blame for the fiasco, or people will start questioning the system, and whether the huntsmen really can protect them. And even though he's in charge of Huntsman Command, and responsible for the defence of the Kingdom against the Grimm, the headmaster was never going to admit culpability, was he? So I'm the scapegoat, I suppose."

Blake was watching him, very carefully. Her eyes never left his face even a single time, all the while she heard his explanation, and gauged his emotions.

And it was because she was paying such close attention to how he appeared to be feeling that she seemed confused.

"I don't understand, Jaune. You aren't upset? Over this? Over being expelled and getting your name dragged through the mud."

Once more, Jaune could do little but shrug.

"Of course I don't like it – but I don't have a choice. And anyway, after a lot of thinking..."

Jaune looked out the window, to glance at a sky without life or colour.

"... I figured that if Ozpin and people like him are the ones running the Kingdom, maybe I don't want to be a huntsman. Maybe I don't want to be a hero. And maybe – just maybe – the real problem is elsewhere."

Jaune sighed.

"Anyway –"

Deciding rather unsubtly to change the topic, Jaune pivoted to asking,

"– how are you? You're recovering well, I hope. No permanent injuries or anything, right?"

As he expressed his concern for her health, Blake's right hand moved, unconsciously, towards her stomach area, over the spot where she had been pierced through.

Slowly – almost uncertainly – she said,

"Ah... yes, the physical injuries are mostly gone. There's scarring, but the organ damage is healed."

Jauned nodded; he'd known the prognosis, but it was good to hear it from Blake herself, and to hear it confirmed that the healers had succeeded without too much complication.

His teammate had been lucky, there was no denying that. Healing semblances were some of the rarest ones out there, so much so that those who had them were almost as much critical national assets as the Champions themselves. People who had the power to heal others were hired at exorbitant wages by the state, and had their semblance usage subject to extremely complex industrial engineering and mathematical optimization, of the sort Jaune could barely manage to understand.

From what he knew, experts in the Ministry of Health looked at the number of remaining years patients were projected to live, as well as the probability of healing actually succeeding – so as to calculate the benefits in terms of prospective years of life saved, from dedicating healers' limited aura reserves to any one patient.

All this was necessary, because prioritization was necessary; because the healers only had so much aura available, and only so much healing they could do each day.

The upshot was that patients had to be ranked, from those with the greatest prospective number of years left to live, down to the fewest, with the healers' time and aura reserves assigned accordingly, with the highest priority being those who could have the most years of live saved.

It was all very rational, very efficient, and very utilitarian, working as it did to save as many years of lives as it was possible to save.

There was just one catch – it was discriminatory, enormously so. Faunus inevitably ended up at the bottom of the prioritization list. Being poor and discriminated against did that – you almost certainly suffered from worse health, and could be expected to die earlier anyway. Saving such a person didn't see much of a gain in terms of years of lives saved – and wasn't all that good a use of limited resources, all things considered.

In the normal course of events, Blake wouldn't have been prioritized. Even leaving aside issues of discrimination, and even though her youth meant she could potentially have many years ahead of her, she had also been near death. Even with healing, her probability of surviving was low, and any hour dedicated to healing her probably saved less prospective years of life, than if it were spent saving someone else.

That was where Ozpin came in, Jaune knew. The headmaster had pulled some strings, to ensure that the healers prioritized Blake. Jaune was not so naive as to think this was born of especial concern for his student; the headmaster just didn't want the diplomatic fallout from having the daughter of the Chieftian of Menagerie dying on his watch – nor did he want to risk Blake's death igniting yet more public criticism, over anti-faunus discrimination in the healing prioritization process.

Jaune wondered if Blake knew how she been favoured, and why – and then he figured that she didn't need to know, regardless. The last thing he wanted was to make his friend and former teammate feel guilty about her survival, especially with her already having survived when Pyrrha had died.

Instead, he asked,

"So why are you still stuck in the hospital? Do they just want to observe you for a bit more, given your week-long coma?"

Blake nodded.

"Yes, the doctors want to make sure there hasn't been brain damage or loss of mental functions, but so far I seem fine – so don't worry."

Blake's words were reassuring, and Jaune nodded in relief.

Indeed, he was put at ease sufficiently that he was in the mood for a joke –

"Ah, that's good. So no loss of taste or anything?"

Blaked looked mildly bemused at the strange specificity his query.

"No –"

"– not even your taste for tuna?"

Blake's face fell into an unimpressed flatness, which told Jaune all he needed to know about what she thought of his joke, but he felt a smile tug at his lips all the same.

And lest he forgot –

Jaune stood, heading over to the table to retrieve what he bought and brought for Blake. Proudly displaying the dozen cans of tuna he purchased, Jaune said,

"I actually did bring some canned tuna for you."

Blake's face did brighten somewhat, and she allowed,

"Fine. Leave them there; I'll have them later."

Jaune nodded, putting the cans back into the plastic bag.

Then, he settled back onto the stool; and while neither he nor Blake immediately moved to continue the conversation, the silence was far from awkward. In fact, at that moment, Jaune got the feeling of being closer than ever to Blake Belladonna.

They had never been friends per se, only teammates – especially after Blake had rejected his overtures of friendship in the library, all those months ago. Now, however, they were bound by tragedy; united, by trauma. Their mutual survival, of death and disaster, could not but bring them closer together.

And for that reason, it was a companionable silence that settled over the room – the sort comfortable with its own existence; that didn't demand filling, by either insincere pleasantries or idle chatter.

It was hence with deep reluctance that Jaune broke it, to steer the conversation into deeper, murkier waters.

"Blake."

"Mmm?"

Peeling her eyes away from the tuna, his old teammate looked back at him.

"I've actually been volunteering for the Faunus Justice Party – helping them out, for the upcoming by-election."

Blake sat forward, her interest no surprise. Without giving him time to offer elaboration of any kind, she asked, with badly-concealed curiosity,

"The FJP? Why?"

Jaune shrugged.

"Well, my current apartment is in a poor faunus-majority area within the industrial district. Living there is quite sobering. Seeing all that poverty, and all that discrimination – it makes me want to do something. So I volunteered with the FJP."

Blake looked thoughtful.

"That's... good. It's usually easier for humans to ignore how hard faunus have it. The FJP, though... they're running for that assembly seat which opened after that assemblyman got exposed for groping his staff, right?"

Blake was well-informed about politics, though Jaune shouldn't never have expected otherwise from the daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie... and a former White Fang member.

"That's right."

Jaune nodded, in acknowledgement of Blake's words

The democratically-elected Valean Assembly and its four hundred and sixty-four members made laws for the Kingdom; they also appointed judges to interpret those laws, and selected who sat on the Council to run the government, keep order, and enforce the law.

It was that power – that opportunity, to shape legislation and policy – that the Corsac Albain and the FJP sought.

Nonetheless, Blake didn't look particularly convinced, and her face betrayed her doubt, when she pronounced –

"The FJP isn't going to win."

Jaune disagreed, and pointed out –

"But this particular district – the Vale 14th – is majority faunus."

Blake brushed the objection aside. Moving to explain, she said,

"Yes, and the faunus are pragmatic people. When all you're used to is poverty and discrimination, and all the progress you experience is slow and incremental, you just don't believe radical political parties like the FJP will be able to make the big changes they promise. You're rather go with the boring centre-left politician who doesn't promise as much but who can wheel-and-deal and has a track record of making your life better through the occasional legislation that benefits faunus."

Jaune nodded thoughtfully. Blake's words made a lot sense, and he had no doubt that her own lived experience as a faunus – as well as her intimate knowledge of what others in her community felt – informed the frank assessment was giving now.

Nonetheless, Jaune persisted.

"What if the FJP could run a very popular candidate who could overcome people's ingrained scepticism?"

Blake still looked doubtful.

"Who?"

"You."

Confusion – followed rapidly by suspicion – blossomed upon Blake's face.

Moving to get a word in before she could reject the suggestion outright, Jaune tried to explain.

"I was speaking to Corsac Albain, who's the –"

"– head of the FJP, I know."

"Right. And he's confident that they can win this by-election in the Vale 14th assembly district, if you stand as their candidate."

Blake looked utterly unenthused at that thought.

"Jaune, why would I want to do that?"

That was the question Jaune had been waiting for Blake to ask; and his answer came, swift and fast.

"Because it'll benefit your fellow faunus?"

The powerful reason, and the bluntness with which it was delivered, served to quieten his former teammate – giving Jaune the time and space to make an even stronger case, for what he was asking from Blake.

"I'm not a faunus, and I won't pretend I know what it's like. I do know, however, that as a matter of fact, your people are discriminated against – stopped by the police for no good reason; arrested at higher rates; punished harder, and sent to prison longer, compared to humans who committed the same crime."

It was the same litany of grievances Corsac had aired earlier, and Jaune listed them now, for Blake to hear.

"And part of the problem, as I'm sure you agree, is that faunus don't have much say in the way Vale is run – not just because they're a minority, but because their votes are diluted by gerrymandering. Because they're heavily packed into individual districts like the Vale 14th, where for all their numbers they have limited say. And that's why Corsac Albain and his party want to bring about electoral reform. Instead of assembly seats tied to individual districts, they want seats allocated proportionally, on the basis of how many votes a political party receives throughout a city or town – you get 70% of the votes in Vale, you get 70% of the seats; 50% of the votes, 50% of the seats; 30% in votes, 30% in seats, and so on."

Blake was listening to Jaune speak, without herself reacting. Jaune himself, meanwhile, was furrowing his brows, as he tried to remember some facts from the readings Watts had been recommending, and that he been doing, in preparation for this task.

It really was ironic – he was being made to study and understand far more complex matters now that he was expelled from Beacon, compared to back when was actually in school.

"If I recall correctly, where it's been tried, this sort proportional system has been good. Gives minorities like the faunus more political representation, which allows them to push back against discrimination and protect their own civil liberties. It also helps keep the peace – by giving the faunus a fair say in the decisions that affect them, they have less reason to resort to violence –"

"And less reason to turn to the Fang."

Blake's voice was quiet, as she made the observation that went to the heart of the issue.

"Right."

Jaune could remember Adam Taurus – his rage, his anger, all burning at an intensity that threatened to destroy both himself and others.

And as uncomfortable a fact it was to admit, Taurus's anger did not lack for justification, born as it was out of injustice and oppression. That meant preventing the sort of violence which men like Adam Taurus threatened, had a solution as simple as it was moral – which was to provide justice, after which would follow peace.

Summing up the argument he was trying to make, Jaune said to Blake,

"These reforms will leave the world a freer and more peaceful place. And isn't that worth fighting for, Blake?"

His former teammate looked conflicted. Her eyes were narrowed, and her forehead drawn into a frown, as she seemed to struggle over his words.

In the end, after much indecision, she settled on saying,

"There are different ways of making the world a better place. For me, that's being a huntress, and protecting innocent people from the Grimm."

Jaune had to a hide a grimace upon hearing that.

And the first thing he thought, then, but did not say, was –

_And how's that working out for us, Blake? Weiss is now working for a father she hates; I'm expelled; you're in a hospital bed; and Pyrrha is dead._

Still, Jaune knew better than to slip into such corrosive cynicism, which ultimately did no good and helped no one. Almost feeling distaste against himself, for being tempted to say such cruel words to a friend, Jaune instead countered Blake's argument with –

"The huntsman corps is the biggest it's ever been, and far from shorthanded. There are more than enough huntsmen and huntresses to defend the world's cities and towns and villages. And while it's always good to have more people capable of fighting the Grimm, they aren't really necessary. Once the few kilometers around a settlement are cleared of any Grimm, and the nearest monsters are too far away to sense people's negative emotions and be drawn in, adding more huntsmen to the local garrison really doesn't make the population centre much safer. Unless you're a Champion or at least an elite huntsman, you're not making much of a difference."

All this, Jaune felt, constituted a fairly banal observation, and smart as Blake was, she couldn't fail to not see it too.

However, as he finished speaking, Jaune found Blake strongly displeased, and with a harsh frown to show for it.

"Jaune, enough. This is my life, not yours, and what I do isn't up to you to decide."

Blake was blunt, and almost curt to the point of cutting.

Jaune wasn't offended, however. He knew, that beneath the steely words, and all that admirable determination, it was an altogether different emotion motivating Blake's rejection –

Fear. Fear of her past. Fear, of it coming out were she to become a public figure.

Jaune was at an impasse.

He couldn't overcome raw fear by mere logic and reason –

– and so, he reached for a darker solution.

His heart wasn't in it, but his mind saw the bright, clear line from where he was to where he needed to be.

It all came back to the fact that had to complete this task, if he wanted to gain Salem's trust. And, as far as Jaune could tell, Blake herself would come to no harm. through her participation in Corsac's scheme. But above all, even if Jaune didn't go through with this, Corsac Albain or even Watts himself would do so, and Blake would be left without choice regardless; hence, it was better that Jaune handle things, and at least put his friend's mind to ease.

Grimacing slightly, Jaune took out his scroll. For what came next, he needed it.

Some secrets were too perilous to speak aloud; too dangerous, to say when others could be near, and when the walls could well have ears.

His fingers danced across his scroll, as Jaune typed out a quick note on his device's text editor. Then, he brought the scroll up, so Blake could see what he had written.

Corsac Albain knows you used to be in the White Fang.

Blake's amber eyes widened in shock – before the fear took over, and her hands gripped her bed's blankets, so tight her knuckles turned white.

"No! I – how –"

Whatever doubts Jaune might have had, over whether Corsac Albrain was telling the truth about Blake's being in the Fang, they were eliminated now. Blake's guilt was so painfully clear; her reaction betrayed her, for such panic and alarm would – in the innocent – have been quite inexplicable.

Even as Jaune proceeded to discard the unsaved text – leaving no evidence it was ever written – Blake began looking around wildly, as if looking for an exit, and for a way out.

There was, however, no escaping the past.

"Blake. Calm down. I have a plan."

She spun her head back to look at him, and like a drowning person grasping the single rope thrown to her, she seized his offer of hope, and demanded,

"What do you mean?"

With a slow, deliberate calmness, Jaune began to explain.

"I understand your trepidation with helping out the FJP. You're afraid that the _secret_ –"

The ambiguous phrasing denied any eavesdroppers the chance of learning the truth, even as both he and Blake were perfectly aware of what was being alluded to.

"– will be revealed by the White Fang, yes?"

Blake nodded, shakily.

It was a perfectly reasonable fear, that as retaliation for her defection, the Fang would tell the world of her past involvement with them – which would not just torpedo her political campaign, but leave her at risk of arrest and imprisonment.

"I discussed this with Corsac Albain. He's of the opinion – and I agree – that Sienna Khan is a politician at heart. She believes that violence is required to advance the cause of faunus equality – but she also understands that peaceful politics is necessary. The entire point of the White Fang's violence isn't just to directly stop the terrible abuse of faunus in certain Atlesian and Mistralian dust mines, but to more broadly intimidate the human Kingdoms, so they undertake the sort of political reform that will guarantee equal rights for faunus. But that sort of peaceful reform needs to be articulated and advocated by faunus politicians within democratic politics itself – so that humans are presented with a better alternative to just doubling down on violently suppressing the White Fang rebellion.

"And that's why Sienna Khan isn't going to just reveal the _secret_ and sabotage the political campaigns being conducted by peaceful faunus politicians. To succeed in her aims, she needs people like you and Corsac Albain to be a friendly face for the faunus, and to propose reforms that look like a very reasonable price to pay, to undercut the Fang's support amongst the faunus."

By this point, Blake looked to have calmed down a bit, even if she didn't look too convinced by his words.

The next part of Jaune's argument, however, would sway her – that much Jaune was certain of.

"But really, it's not Sienna Khan you have to worry about – it's Corsac Albain."

Whatever calm Blake looked to have regained vanished then, as Jaune's words hit home, and as she was reminded that Corsac Albain was all but blackmailing her.

Pressing on, Jaune said,

"So here's my suggestion – help Corsac. Run as the FJP candidate, and win. And then what can he do to you? Reveal the _secret_ and blow up his own party's credibility? They'll never recover, from... well, you know."

_From having it revealed that their own assemblywoman was a former White Fang member_ – that was the part Jaune left unsaid.

Blake, however, knew exactly what he was talking about; and her eyes widened, in both understanding and hope. Relief colouring her voice, she said,

"And they can't use that as blackmail anymore!"

"Exactly."

It was a beautiful plan; and Jaune was quite pleased at himself, to have thought of it – of binding the FJP's reputation so close to Blake's own that Corsac's blackmail became worthless; like a gun pointed at his own head just as much as her's.

Seeking to wrap things up, Jaune asked Blake,

"So, do you agree to run as the FJP's candidate?"

Blake hesitated, but swallowed whatever remaining reservations she had, and made her commitment with –

"Yes. Yes, let's do this."

That was Blake's agreement secured, and Jaune hated to admit, he was _good_ at this. It was, perhaps, no coincidence, that it was not his skill with the sword but his intelligence and political acumen, that had persuaded the headmaster to let him into Beacon.

From the corner of his eye, Jaune caught sight of Gambol Shroud, propped up against the wall, and well within easy reach of Blake.

The presence of his teammate's weapon reminded him of the absence of his own – a sign of the times, where he had to do his fighting with wit and words, rather than with steel and sword.

It was unusual, but not unpleasant, and Jaune did not know if it was optimism or pessimism that made him realize –

_Compared to combat, politicking is paradise; because when I manipulate and lie, at least no one dies._

-(=RWBY=)-


	17. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow VII

It was almost the end of winter, but not quite so; and as Jaune walked into the campus of the University of Vale, he found the morning air bracingly cold.

As with Beacon, the end of term for the civilian universities was imminent, which meant that the students were split into two distinct masses, each one defined by the pace at which they lived life. One group was in a frenzy, rushing to and fro the examination halls. The other was altogether more languid, being done with the fall semester examinations, and able to swan about on the lawns in blissful relaxation.

Jaune watched all this with less detachment than he would have wished. He was envious, in truth. He missed school, and all it entailed – the joy of freedom without responsibility; the ease at which one could succeed at schoolwork; but above all, the friends to hang out with, and around whom loneliness did not exist.

Suppressing the nostalgia swelling with him before it made him feel too pathetic, Jaune registered as a visitor at the porters' lodge, before heading into college proper.

The University of Vale ran on a collegiate system, and though there was a central administration organizing things like university-wide matriculation and examinations and graduation, the various constituent colleges had plenty of independence, and did everything from hiring their own professors, to running their own student accommodations, to determining their own academic syllabus.

Jaune was on the grounds of one particular college this morning – Ternion College, the old alma mater of Pietro Polendina. The scientist – reputed to be Atlas's finest mind, if not the smartest man alive – was giving a small talk on the topic of cybernetics, and Jaune was here to listen.

Passing through the college's side-gate, Jaune walked out onto the front yard. Stately trees grew haphazard-wise on the lawns, some evergreen, and yet others without leaves, winter having left them bald and their branches bare.

There was still plenty of time till the lecture began, so Jaune took the time to enjoy himself and admire the sights.

When Qrow Branwen had interrupted Jaune's lunch with the Malachite twins last week, he had dropped some parting advice from Professor Goodwitch, about not giving up on education. And while Jaune was certainly not going back to school any time soon, he did end up thinking it would be interesting to sign up for, and sit in on, some of the lectures that the University of Vale organized and allowed public attendance at.

Making his way through the college at a leisurely pace, Jaune came upon the dining hall, and decided to take a look inside.

Slipping past the crowd of students that was starting to gather for lunch, Jaune entered the great hall.

The place was impressive, and looked every inch a dining hall out of medieval history – from the long oak tables stretching from the front doors to the back of the hall; to the gold-framed portraits of dead men powerful in their day adorning the walls; and to the pale-white chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, adding its soft glow to the morning light streaming in from the tall windows.

There was certainly the weight of age and a sense of history to the place – even if it made a strange contrast with the otherwise modern attire of the students and staff.

Deciding not to overstay his welcome, or get in the way of the students queuing for their lunch, Jaune headed back out.

Continuing his exploratory stroll through the college, Jaune passed courtyard after courtyard, and aged stone building after aged stone building, before arriving at the gardens at the rear of the college.

It was a beautiful, scenic place; a vividly viridescent lawn, immaculately maintained and meticulously manicured, surrounded on all sides by wild shrubbery and overreaching trees.

There were worn wooden lawn chairs scattered about, and Jaune padded his way over to one, before taking a seat.

It was nice, to just enjoy the cold winter air, and soak in the silence.

Watts had just given him yet another task, and he had a fair bit to think about.

"_A successful political campaign cannot be run without sufficient financial resources, and I fear our faunus friends are having trouble with fundraising. It would help if you could speak to the father of a good friend of yours, and get the Faunus Justice Party the money it needs to secure Miss Belladonna's electoral victory."_

Jaune knew exactly what he needed to do, but it was going to be difficult, and deeply unpleasant – not just for him, for _her_.

It was too fine a morning to be spent worrying, however, so Jaune let go of his troubles for the time being, and instead concentrated on enjoying his scenic surroundings.

And indeed he did so, for all of a minute, before –

"Sa-lu-tations!"

Jaune sat up from his lawn chair with a start, as a loud and altogether too energetic voice assaulted his ears.

Turning his head around, he saw a girl in long black stockings and an old fashioned dress, with short orange hair falling in curls to just above her shoulders.

Despite being somewhat annoyed at the boisterous girl for interrupting his attempt to relax, Jaune made the effort to be polite, as he did replied.

"May I help you?"

The girl clapped her hands together eagerly, and bobbed her head up and down.

"Oh, yes. My name is Penny, and it's a pleasure to meet you. I am in search of the '_Dansen Room_', where the brilliant Professor Polendina is about to give a lecture. Could you direct me there, please, if it's not too much trouble?"

The Penny girl had a strange, overly formal way of speaking, but more to the point –

"I'm sorry, I'm not a student here. Perhaps –"

"Oh!"

The girl's eyes widened, and she interrupted Jaune as he was mid-sentence.

"You are... Jaune Arc!"

The way she said his name sounded odd – like it was something she was reading off a scroll screen, or like it was a detail she had just presently learnt.

Regardless, Jaune sighed. He was in his usual civilian getup – armour off, beanie on, and hoodie up – but it seemed that was no guarantee of others not recognizing him.

To the girl's blunt question, Jaune gave an equally blunt answer in reply.

"Yes, I'm Jaune Arc. Is that a problem?"

The girl hurriedly started flailing her arms about.

"Oh no, no; but I'm sorry for your loss."

_Sorry for my loss?_

"Ah –"

Penny's words left Jaune speechless for a couple of long seconds. The idea that anyone would offer him condolences over the events of Rothenburg, rather than supply censure or silent judgement – it boggled his mind.

Jaune's eyes narrowed, as he scanned the Penny's girl face for any hint that she was being insincere –

– but in her friendly, guileless expression, Jaune found neither deceit nor deception; only warmth, and simple human compassion.

Touched over the girl's kindness – and perhaps not as immune to social disapproval as he liked to think – Jaune gave a tired, grateful smile.

"You're kind to say so, Penny."

Feeling the need to do something nice for the girl in return, Jaune added,

"Anyway, I'm also here for the Polendina lecture, and I know the way to the room it's being held at. I can show you there, if you want."

Upon hearing his offer, Penny gave a bright smile.

"Wonderful! Let us be on our way then, Jaune!"

The girl's excitement was infectious, and Jaune found himself smiling as he stood up, and began heading in the direction of the so-named Dansen Room, where the lecture was to be held.

Jaune had managed to take a look at a map of the college while he was at the front lodge, so he knew how to navigate his way to the room in question. With Penny all but skipping along beside him, Jaune led the way off to the side of the lawn, and onto a gravel path that cut through the wilderness and overgrowth that dominated this part of the college campus.

Some of the trees they passed were massive oaks, ancient and gnarled. Their roots and branches alike grew wild and haphazardly, twisting this way and that, going in all directions while seeking out no apparent destination.

Some of these trees could well be centuries old – and Jaune wouldn't have at all been surprised, if an oak amongst those in this grove turned out to be even older than the founding of the Kingdom of Vale.

It was a strange thought to consider, that some of these oaks had been old when the Kingdom was young. And it was stranger still, to realize – that not only had these trees been around since the time when Jeanne d'Arc was alive, but that they would still be growing strong, long after Jaune and the rest of the Arc family was dead and gone.

While Jaune was entertaining these ruminations about history, Penny was growing ever more excited; and her unbridled enthusiasm seemed to boil over, when finally, she broke the silence with an exclamation.

"This is so exciting! It's like we're two friends on an adventure, hunting an escaped convict or some pirate's treasure!"

Her innocent joy brought a slight smile to his face, and Jaune found himself enjoying the temporary company of the strange but spirited girl.

"Sure. Two friends on an adventure."

What came next was something Jaune did not expect. Coming to a dead stop in the middle of the gravel path, Penny turned to Jaune, wonder written across her face, and joy glimmering in her eyes."

"Are we really friends?"

Her words gave him pause.

The overreading of his casual words, and the general strangeness of her behaviour – it made Jaune begin to suspect that Penny was not merely socially awkward, but perhaps suffering from some sort of developmental disorder related to social interaction.

Regardless, he saw no harm in humouring her.

"Sure. We can be friends, if you like –"

"Sen-sa-tio-nal!"

With a million megawatt smile that could light up the dark, Penny stepped in close, and grabbed Jaune's hand so they could shake on it.

Jaune winced, as he found his right hand being crushed under Penny's iron grip; her strength was like nothing human, and utterly incongruous for a girl her size.

On instinct, Jaune activated his aura, and immediately the pain lessened, as his enhanced durability served to shrug off the force being exerted upon his body.

And, unsurprisingly, Jaune could sense that Penny's aura was unlocked. The girl was a huntress-in-training, if her superhuman strength hadn't already given the game away.

"You should be more careful with your strength, Penny. Civilians without aura aren't as durable as us huntsmen. They can get badly hurt if we're careless during our physical interactions with them."

The mild rebuke dimmed Penny's smile, and she brought her hands to her mouth to gasp.

"Oh, no! My apologies, friend Jaune! I promise to be more careful in the future. I hope I didn't hurt you."

Jaune shook his right hand, any remaining wisps of pain already fading away.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Come on, let's stop standing here."

As he led them further down the path, cutting through the copse of ancient trees to get to their destination, he tried to make some small talk.

"So, what school are you from?"

Beacon was Vale's finest Huntsman Academy, as was Signal its best primary combat school, but those two alone could not train all the huntsmen the Kingdom needed to hold the Grimm at bay, and there were plenty of other schools around to make up the difference.

"Atlas Academy, friend Jaune!"

Jaune wouldn't have guessed so, given Penny's sunny disposition made, and how strongly that contrasted with the military discipline and aloof demeanour the Atlesians liked to with the cultivate in their students.

"Are you here on your end of semester training mission, Penny?"

Though Beacon felt like an eternity ago for Jaune, the first semester was still not over, and there were two weeks to go before the start of spring break. For some of the teams on longer, month-long missions – as Rothenburg was meant to have been – they would still be out in the field, or wherever their mission had taken them.

Penny was taken aback by his question, and appeared strangely reluctant to answer – which puzzled Jaune – but in the end, she said,

"Yes – hic – I am here on the semester's final – hic – training mission."

Penny started suffering inexplicably from a bout of hiccups, which made Jaune ask, with some concern,

"Are you fine?"

"Oh yes, friend Jaune. Worry not – I occasionally suffer from hiccups for no good – hic – reason."

"If you say so."

Shrugging, Jaune let the matter go, and they continued walking towards the destination building at the back of the college. As they walked, Penny seemed to return to normal, her hiccup attack going away as suddenly as it appeared.

The two wound their way out of the woods, and onto a courtyard that led to the building where the lecture was being held. Penny was happy to chatter as they walked, and Jaune was happy to let her.

She went on upon how wonderful Vale was, and how excited she was to be here, and Jaune made nodded politely and made affirmative noises at appropriate junctures – not because he was disinterested, but because there was just far too much to respond to.

Penny reminded Jaune of Ruby, in her cheerfulness and naivety, in her innocence and the way she was happy-go-lucky.

Nonetheless, the thought of Ruby – as well as the rest of team RVLY – brought an internal wince to Jaune. His team had been decently close to Ruby's, enough so that they would have all been comfortable calling each other friends – which made it difficult, to have to ignore the constant calls and messages Ruby kept sending his way.

No doubt she wanted to ask him about whether what Ozpin was telling the world was true; about what truly happened at Rothenburg, to have led to the death of one teammate and the disgrace of another. And, knowing Ruby, she would probably want to reassure him that he had done nothing wrong –

– which was precisely why Jaune was keeping his distance. The whole image he was striving to project to Watts; the story he was trying to sell; and the lie he was attempting to tell – they all involved the idea of him being bitter at the world, and alienated from everyone else.

_That_ helped make the notion that he would sell out the world to Salem a plausible one, and it was far too great a risk, to have too many friends, and to appear too well-loved. After all, if he had such friends, and cared for their well-being and safety, then he ought not be killing huntsmen and hurting humanity – or aiding the Queen of the Grimm, no matter how much he hated Ozpin.

Hence, Jaune held his silence, and kept his friends in the dark; a small sacrifice, in the grand scheme of things, and an insignificant price to pay, compared to everything else his mission had asked of him.

"– the cafes, the monuments, the opera houses – they're all so fun to visit! My father brought me –"

Penny was still going on about Vale with all the enthusiasm of a tourist, as Jaune and her ascended a flight of stairs into the college building that was their destination. The Dansen Room itself, where the lecture was to be held, was on the ground floor, and with a crowd already milling about outside it, it wasn't at all hard to locate.

Jaune continued to listen to Penny's chatter, occasionally interjecting with his own comments, until eventually –

A excited murmur began rippling through the crowd, and Jaune turned around.

Professor Pietro Polendina was easy to recognize, and impossible to miss. A portly older man with dark skin and a crown of white hair, the professor was sat in a mechanized four-legged wheelchair.

And as a sign of just how important he was to Atlas, the man was accompanied by a huntsman. The tall thin man with pale skin and strange tattoos was one of General Ironwood's elite specialists, Jaune did not doubt, and it was clear he was there solely to protect the primary reason for Atlesian technological superiority.

Where the huntsman was cold and aloof, however, the professor himself was warm and kindly. Raising a hand in greeting, he said to the crow of assembled students,

"Sorry to keep you all waiting. Your professors detained me, with interesting conversation and good food."

The man laughed heartily as he patted his stomach, and the crowd joined him in chuckling.

"Come, come."

Everyone filtered into the room, and Jaune and Penny took seats at the back.

The professor began fiddling with his scroll, to link up with the room's AV system and to set up the slideshow presentation he wanted to show his audience.

As he did so, the whole room waited respectfully; where ordinarily, students awaiting a lecture might have looked at their scrolls or chatted with each other, here they were quietly and expectantly attentive.

It was well-deserved respect. Pietro Polendina was a genius, and the scientific advances he had wrought – in weapons technology, and in cybernetics, and in understanding aura itself – were not merely immense but utterly revolutionary.

There was, after all, a reason why the man's name was in every school textbook, whether civilian or huntsman.

For all that aura allowed superhuman feats, and for all that semblances were endlessly varied in their effects, there were limits. As every aspiring huntsman learnt in school, semblances affected the external physical world via the pushing of aura into elements and objects, after which said things could be manipulated – air set afire, metal moved, or sand and dust turned to flowing glass. At the same time, people's auras, unlocked or otherwise, powerfully and automatically prevented the intrusion of foreign aura into the body. Hence, semblances could never directly affect other humans or faunus, and even a huntress as powerful as Glynda Goodwitch, with a semblance as broken as telekinesis, could not just crush another person's brain with a thought. Clothes and weapons, of course, were fair game, and Jaune had seen Goodwitch immobilize students that way. Pyrrha had done much the same with Polarity, against opponents who never saw it coming, or who lacked sufficient aura mastery to prevent her seeping her aura into their metal weapons.

This inability of semblances to directly affect people's bodies was the so-called Polendina Limit, named after the man who proved its existence through rigorous scientific investigation. Even semblances with mental effects turned out to work via physical channels that the users themselves did not understand – such as illusion semblances using complex aura constructs, or emotion-manipulation semblances producing mind-altering chemicals.

Such knowledge mattered when it came to huntsman-on-huntsman combat, as when Jaune himself fought Neo. Knowing that she wasn't messing directly with his head, and couldn't alter his sense of pain the way she could manipulate light or sound – that informed his strategy to retaliate the moment her sword touched his flesh. Had Jaune not understood the situation correctly, and instead second guessed his own strategy, out of the fear that any pain was merely a hallucination and that Neo's strike could come from other directions...

_Well, I'll be dead._

And so it was with a straight back and with undivided attention that Jaune sat in his chair, and awaited the start of Professor Polendina's lecture.

He did not have to wait long, for the professor had no trouble firing up the room's presentation screen – to display a charming picture of a female-looking robot – before beginning in earnest.

"Now, students, and guests from outside the university, I understand you are eager to listen to me talk about and explain some of the latest and most exciting research me and my Atlesian colleagues are doing on cybernetics. However, before we move to that, I want to focus on _what it all means_."

The professor gestured animatedly as he spoke.

"As some of you might have heard, we are _very close_ to making a breakthrough on being able to transfer minds into android bodies. Before we make such a breakthrough, however, we need to understand how it affects society, and how it changes what it means to be human – or faunus.

"Of course, this marvellous technology, once developed, can help fatally injured huntsmen or civilians with incurable diseases to escape their dying bodies – and to live on as androids. Not an attractive idea to many people, perhaps, but it is certainly preferable to dying.

"There are limits to this, naturally. No one cheats cheat death forever, and this technology will not allow people to live the rest of eternity as androids. For reasons we do not yet understand, aura disintegrates over time, and whether your body is flesh and blood, or steel and oil, won't change that. It won't."

Jaune found himself nodding along.

This was another well-known fact about aura; those who lived beyond a century could well be fine physically, but inevitably, their souls began to degrade and fade – and they would slowly go insane, before finally death came.

Salem with her magic, and Ozpin with his ability to reincarnate, were possibly the only two humans in history to have escaped this fate. Whether the former retained her sanity through the centuries, however, was up to debate.

_And honestly, who's to say Ozpin's sane either?_

Jaune hadn't been feeling particularly charitable to his former headmaster ever since the start of the infiltration mission, and his thoughts reflected as much.

Professor Polendina was still speaking, after pausing for a while to let the implications of his previous words sink in.

"Those are the practical consequences of the marvellous technology we are developing. But what are the _philosophical_ consequences, hmm? Forget the technology itself for now. Say some huntsman has a semblance that lets him transfer minds between bodies. You, young man –"

The professor gestured towards a student in the front row.

"– if this huntsman transferred your mind and aura into your friend –"

Polendina waved at another young man on the front row.

"– who would you be? The person with your mind, but your friend's body, or the person with your body, but your friend's mind?"

The student gave the hypothetical some thought, before answering confidently –

"The person with my mind, sir."

"Indeed!"

Polendina started navigating his wheelchair about, in what appeared to be his version of pacing. And as he paced, he spoke.

"Because really, what we are, is this thinking, feeling being, yes? I _have_ a body; I _am_ my mind. The people we are, from one second to the next, from one day to another, depends on maintaining the same memories and personality and beliefs and desires – on _psychological continuity_, if you will. But not so fast!"

The professor was very animated by now, as he held one hand up, as if to stop everyone from getting ahead of themselves.

"Did you know, students, that even if half the brain were destroyed, consciousness remains? Hemispherectomy is in fact a rare but largely successful treatment for brain tumours that cannot be removed by conventional surgery, or by the best healing semblances. If you had your left brain hemisphere removed, you would still be conscious after the operation, and you would remain psychologically continuous with the person you were before the surgery – you'll have same personality and the same memories. In short, you'll be you. Except –"

Professor Polendina held up a single finger, and the silence dragged as he held the room in suspense.

"– what if we didn't destroy the removed brain hemisphere, but transplanted it to another body? Then that body would wake up as _you_, too, with your personality and memories. Would there be two of you? But how would that work? If you Number One is the same person as the old you, and you Number Two is also the same person as the old you, then Number One and Number Two are the _same person as each other_ – but that's impossible. What if the hospital fed One but not Two? One would be hungry while Two would be full – so are you simultaneously _both_ hungry and not hungry?"

The room started buzzing as the professor posed his question. Jaune himself rubbed his chin thoughtfully; the paradox made his head hurt, but he couldn't deny that it was interesting.

More worrying, however, was what this all implied, about the sort of morally questionable experimentation Atlas was up to. Watts himself had been an Atlesian scientist, before his faked death but actual defection; and who knew what Atlas had allowed him to do, back then – and indeed what Atlas was still doing, now.

Regardless, Jaune had no time to think more about the issue, for the professor was on a roll, and continued developing the problem for his audience.

"I can see many of you are stumped. Not to worry – the same problem has stumped the greatest philosophers in the world. One solution they offer is to say that personal identity has to be _unique_. You as an individual only continue to exist if you don't 'branch out' into more than one person; if you do, then neither of the two people that come out from the brain hemisphere transplant really are you.

"But I think we all agree that this isn't satisfactory. What do you say? You, young lady, what do you think?"

The professor picked out the girl seated next to him, on the side opposite to Penny. She looked startled to have been singled out, but recovered her equilibrium swiftly enough, and gave a thoughtful answer –

"I... don't think it's a great solution, professor. Because surely whether a person in the future will be me should depend only on how that person relates to me – whether they can remembering being me, and so on. How can I stop being me just because some other person is created?"

The professor was clapping with joy by the time the young woman was done speaking.

"My dear girl, you hit the nail right on the head."

From the deep frowns all around, however, the rest of the room – and Jaune counted himself amongst their number – weren't quite following matters. The professor seemed aware, for he backtracked, and said,

"All this is rather abstract, so let's make this all concrete. Let's say we successfully develop this mind transfer technology. And let's say you're dying of incurable cancer, so doctors use the technology to transfer your mind into an android. However, unbeknownst to you, a rogue scientist keeps a copy of your mind data, and then a year later, in a secret lab somewhere, made another copy of you with another android body. If you took the idea a person only continues to exist if they are unique, and there hasn't been any 'branching out', then you have to say that you as an individual stopped existing the moment your clone was created – which is absurd. How could your continued as an individual and as a person depend not on things like what memories you have, and what personality you possess, but what's happening somewhere else, half the world away?"

Frowns changed to nods and looks of understanding, as the point was driven home. Jaune too, got the point, though his head really was throbbing from all the over-thinking.

The professor, meanwhile, seemed to be wrapping up this part of his lecture. Jaune was not unaware of the irony, that he was now looking forward to the very scientific and very technical part of the lecture as perhaps the less mentally taxing bit of it.

"So that's the problem. I don't claim to have an answer, but perhaps the right way to think about it is – so what? All we care about is surviving into the future, and as long as there's someone psychologically continuous with present me – with the same personality and same memories – what do I care whether that person is technically identical to me or not? Just some food for thought."

The room lapsed into pensive silence, as everyone present absorbed this insight from the smartest man alive.

Jaune however, was frowning – deeply so, with his brows almost painfully furrowed.

The whole lecture had been extremely abstract and philosophical, and while Jaune had certainly learned a lot, he also found it somewhat suspicious. The professor had clearly given the matter a whole lot of thought, and it just didn't strike Jaune as plausible that a scientist – even one as brilliant as Pietro Polendina – would do that, rather than just dismiss abstract philosophizing as inconsequential navel-gazing –

– unless –

– unless these weren't theoretical questions for him, but an actual ethical dilemma he was facing, because –

– because Atlas _had already cloned people_, in the exact same manner Pietro Polendina was now discussing as mere hypotheticals.

And as for why Atlas would do such a thing...

The answer came, so obvious, so patent, so utterly self-evident.

Atlas loved its combat robots, from the older Atlesian Knights to the rumoured new Paladin prototype – and for good reason, for these AI-piloted mechs allowed terrorists and Grimm alike to be fought, without needing soldiers and huntsmen to risk their lives.

The problem there, of course, was that the mechs were ineffective against the Grimm, whose skin and armour resisted conventional weapons even as they were easily pierced by aura-imbued swords and bullets.

Now, however, with the ability to copy minds into robots – and indeed, to do this as many times as desired with but a single huntsman as the original template – one could create an army of aura-capable android huntsmen, each one capable of destroying Grimm with ease even as their metal bodies protected them from any significant physical harm or risk.

It was literally inhuman, and utterly dystopian, and...

... also exactly the sort of scheme Ozpin would – with Ironwood's input – come up with.

The worst part of it, however, was that Jaune could not say they were wrong. Despite his instinctive revulsion, Jaune saw the logic in such a plan. Undeniably, it would help save lives, by protecting civilians from the Grimm even while sparing vulnerable flesh-and-blood huntsmen from needing to fight on the frontlines. And it wasn't as if anyone had to be forced to participate in the copying process; Ironwood could doubtlessly find some brave and patriotic volunteer willing to undergo the procedure.

Of course, none of this would matter of Salem got a hold of the Relics, but still, any help in the eternal fight against the endless tide of monsters was welcome.

Jaune shook his head, trying to get rid of his mounting headache.

It was all too much; ancient magics on the one hand, and godlike technology on the other – Jaune couldn't wrap his head around the full implications of it all.

"Friend Jaune. Are you alright?"

Penny's voice cut through the painful haze that had descended upon his mind, and prompted Jaune to shake his head once more, before looking at his new friend.

"I'm fine, Penny. I was just thinking."

"What about?"

She looked genuinely curious.

Not wanting to explain the whole complicated matter – and doubting if anyone else would believe something that could not help but sound like an insane conspiracy theory – Jaune deflected.

Smiling slightly, Jaune said,

"Just thinking about sentient androids and how they might already be here."

Penny looked shocked; her eyes widened, and her head jerked back, even as the girl herself seemed to fall into a daze. Jaune found it all quite strange, but then again _strangeness_ summed up Penny in a word.

Turning back to the front of the room, and to the presentation, Jaune found himself unable to focus.

Instead, he thought back to Rothenburg; to his partner; to Pyrrha; and to the way she died, a hole blown right through her stomach.

If only that had been an Atlesian mech, smart or otherwise, then Pyrrha would still be alive.

And _that_ decided Jaune.

If a vague moral feelings and amorphous disgust stood in the way of saving lives...

... then so much the worse for his feelings.

Not a single thing had changed his mind since Domremy, and he was always going to prioritize saving lives – even if the means were ugly.

-(=RWBY=)-


	18. Chapter 2 - City of Light and --- VIII

The remainder of the Polendina lecture Jaune spent in brooding silence. Penny herself was subdued, her usual cheer nowhere in evidence; instead, she seemed deep in troubled thought. Jaune left her to her ruminations, caught up as he was with dwelling unhealthily on Domremy, and on the past more generally.

He didn't pay too much attention to the latter half of Professor Polendina's lecture, which covered the technical and scientific aspects of the Atlesian cybernetics programme.

It all passed in a blur, and when the lecture finally came to an end, Jaune found himself bidding Penny goodbye in a rather melancholic mood. They traded contact details, and Penny extracted a promise from him to keep in touch, but otherwise, Jaune left the college in a manner not too dissimilar from how he had arrived – alone, and with no one with whom to speak his mind.

Making his way over to the nearby train station, and catching the commuter rail back into the industrial district, Jaune headed to his next destination for the day.

The train journey itself went by in silence, and soon enough Jaune was walking past factories and heavy vehicle parking lots, as he made his way over to Junior's club on Sandflower Road.

The Pub and Club looked the same as ever, one big warehouse amongst many others.

With it still being early in the day, the first floor – and the nightclub it hosted – was closed. The pub on the second level, however, was open for business; with a quick detour down the nearby alley, Jaune then scaled a steel flight of stairs attached to the side of the warehouse, and pushed his way through the secondary entrance to Junior's establishment.

One of Junior's men was standing guard, and Jaune offered a nod in passing, as he headed into the pub itself.

The place was traditional in design, its darker ambience, wooden furniture and cozy cubicles all standing in marked contract to the glitz and glamour of the nightclub below.

Junior himself was tending the bar, as was his custom when his busy schedule permitted it. Jaune suspected that the man found the bartending a welcome break from the stressful work of running a gang and its business empire.

Jaune made his way to the dimly-lit bar, speaking as he did.

"Junior."

"Arc. Here to mooch on my food again?"

"Oh yes."

Despite his words, Junior's tone was amiable. He and Jaune got along well enough, and their arrangement – where Jaune provided protection against the other gangs, and Junior supplied information and resources in support of Jaune's more illicit activities – was a mutually beneficial one.

There was also the perk where Jaune also got to wine and dine on the house at The Pub and Club, so all things considered he had little to complain about.

As Junior poured out two glasses of Mistralian whiskey, the bear of a man continued the conversation.

"You wanted to use one of my meeting rooms. Room four of the third floor is free this afternoon."

Jaune nodded in acknowledgement.

"Thanks. And how's business, Junior? No trouble?"

Junior did not answer immediately, instead pushing one generously filled glass of whiskey over the bar countertop. Jaune picked it up, and Junior did the same with the glass he had poured for himself, before the two enjoyed a draught of fine Mistralian whiskey.

Only after that did Junior reply – slowly, deliberately –

"Business's good. No trouble, no... _problem_s. Things are quiet, peaceful."

Jaune nodded, satisfied. The subtext would have been missed by anyone unfamiliar with Junior's role in the criminal underworld, but both Jaune and Junior knew very well what the other was talking about. Jaune wanted to know if his public association with Junior's Axe Gang had helped intimidate the rival gangs into ceasing their violent incursions into Junior's turf, and the man himself had confirmed as much.

That was only one side of the equation, however –

"And your boys, Junior? No trouble from them either, I expect?"

"No."

Junior smiled grimly.

"They've seen the video of you fighting Neo. Beheading her. Heard the rumours of you doing Hazel Rainart in, too. My boys know that if they act up, there's nothing stopping you from doing the same to them."

Jaune nodded agreeably, before draining the rest of his drink.

"Very good. Well, do tell me if any of your... business rivals... are expanding their market share. I'll be more than happy to see to it that things don't get too ugly."

The euphemisms got the point across, and Junior nodded his understanding.

That concluded any business Jaune had with the man, and so –

"Talk to you later, Junior."

"Mmm."

Jaune left the bar, to wind his way through the various sturdy oaken tables, and reach a cubicle at the back of the pub.

Settling into the comfortable upholstery of the private booth, Jaune immediately began calling over the waitress, so as to order his lunch.

He got the house special – fish pie – while deciding against another whiskey. He generally tried to limit his drinking to only a few days a week, and in any case wanted his mind clear, for when he video-called Weiss later. They had so many things to catch up on, and so much business to talk; the last thing he needed was to be lectured by her on his drinking habit.

Idly glancing around the bar, Jaune was half amused and half disturbed to realize that the other patrons had none of his moderation, and little of his discipline – for almost all of them were drinking, heavily, with a good few were already deep in their cups.

Men and women, faunus and human, huntsmen and civilian – there were all sorts drowning their sorrows in Junior's pub. Some were young and some were old – the former failing to realize that they were ruining their lives; the latter knowing that all too well, but having sunk too deep into despair to still even care.

It was disquieting, and Jaune silently resolved to never end up like them – or like Qrow, for that matter. Drinking was pleasant, and a convenient way of alleviating his frustrations and boredom – which was fine, if done if moderation; otherwise...

Jaune watched a man pass out on his table, and another nearly tip his glass over in a failed and drunken attempt to grab it.

_... otherwise, that._

Having had enough of the dispiriting sight, Jaune turned his attention away from the sorry state of the pub's clientele.

Instead, he began absent-mindedly surfing the web on his scroll, all the while thinking about how to approach the coming conversation with Weiss.

He had contacted her, and set up a meeting between them, after Watts had given him the task of persuading Jacques Schnee to fund the Faunus Justice Party's electoral campaign.

Of course, the first step towards that end was persuading Weiss herself, so that she would be willing to introduce Blake and him to her father, and to help them convince him to agree to their request. Admittedly, it would not be easy to persuade Weiss of the merits of helping the Faunus Justice Party – but Jaune was optimistic. There were good, impartial reasons to assist the FJP in achieving their aims – reasons related to freedom and fairness and the common good; reasons that Weiss was too clever not to recognize.

Of course, she hated the White Fang, and Blake's past vastly complicated things, but Jaune thought he could finesse events his way.

And at the end of the day, all the compelling logical arguments Jaune could muster didn't truly matter; nor did Weiss's personal history really threaten to become an obstacle – for the decisive consideration in all this was the brute fact that he needed to complete this task for Watts, so as to work his way into Salem's trust.

This was something he had not been – and would not be – able to explicitly tell Weiss. Whether they were messaging each other or speaking via a video call, there was too high a risk of their electronic conversations being monitored, especially given Watt's incomparable hacking abilities.

Jaune would have to pull out the euphemisms, and rely heavily on insinuations and implications, to get the point across to Weiss later, that he _needed_ her help in this.

And in truth –

_Not saying what we mean, and being dishonest about feelings... that has defined our relationship, hasn't it?_

Jaune suppressed a rueful, self-depreciating grin. He could still remember that last day he had managed to spend with Weiss at Beacon, before she had to fly off to Atlas. He could remember his half-assed, equivocal confession; Weiss's own ambiguous reply; and them finally agreeing to go travelling after all this blew over.

Even now, Jaune could recall how Weiss passionately described a particular location in Atlas she wanted them to visit.

"_In Atlas, there is this place in the mountains, a week's journey from the city proper. There, a river falls from the peaks down into the vast lake beneath, and in winter that river freezes. That frozen waterfall is the most beautiful thing in the world. I'll like you to see that, one day."_

The mere thought of a vacation with Weiss brought a smile to lips, and lifted his spirits considerably.

It was hence with good cheer that he thanked the waitress, when she eventually came over to serve his meal.

Digging into his lunch, Jaune savoured the crunchy pie crust, and the rich, thick white sauce, and all the succulent seafood, from the cod and salmon, to the haddock and prawns.

He continued idly browsing the web on his scroll, and reading the news – but nothing was particularly interesting, save for the announcement of an upcoming summit discussing the future of Mistral. There was talk of greater federalization, and more autonomy to the Mistralian provinces – and it didn't take a genius to realize that the Mistralian Council was in a panic about Raven Branwen. They wanted to appease the restive backwater regions, especially the faunus-majority ones, for fear that they would simply throw their lot in with Raven Branwen and the de facto kingdom she was building.

As Jaune mused about the Mistralian Council's gambit, however, a woman walked into a pub, her scarred face dismayingly familiar.

Jaune felt disquiet settle over him as he realized that it was one of the huntresses he had attacked during the White Fang's raid on the airbase – specifically, the rapier-wielder who was leader to the team he had fought on roof

Jaune was glad to see she was up and about – clearly, her broken arms and leg had been healed – but all the same, he felt some consternation, at the possibility that she could recognize him in turn, as the man who attacked her team that night.

Jaune didn't think it _likely_; he had neither shown his face nor spoken aloud to his victims that night, and it was notoriously difficult to identify people by aura. Recognizing a specific aura signature as belonging to a particular person required spending a lot of time in close proximity to that person, and with one's own aura active and engaged no less. In practice, that meant huntsman could really only pick out the unique aura signatures of their teammates. Jaune himself could only identify Weiss and Blake by their aura – and perhaps also some of his other first year Beacon schoolmates – but that was it.

Still, just to be safe, Jaune wolfed down the rest of his fish pie, threw Junior a parting nod of acknowledgement, and then made a beeline for the stairs at the back of the pub.

It didn't escape his attention, however, that the huntress looked over at him as he began descending the stairs, and that her eyes lingered on him for longer than was strictly normal.

Jaune suppressed his doubts; she was probably only recognizing him – Jaune Arc – as the disgraced former trainee huntsman whose glory-hunting ways had gotten his teammate killed during the Rothenburg attack.

Making his way down the stairs, Jaune caught a glimpse of the darkened nightclub on the first floor, before continuing his descent, to arrive at the basement of The Pub and Club.

The converted warehouse which housed Junior's establishment had an underground floor – a drab, dreary place that was all gray concrete and non-descript doors. Junior kept his stores here, and as Jaune strode through the long corridor leading deeper into the basement, he passed both the food-filled pantry and the wine-stocked cellar.

The warehouse was a large place, and so was its basement. One whole section had been turned into a gym, allowing Junior's men to work out, and to receive some rudimentary but regular combat training. Jaune himself was a regular visitor here; it beat having to pay for a commercial gym membership, or having to train while the stares of the other gym-goers burnt a hole into the back of his head.

Right now, however, Jaune was not looking to practise his sword techniques, nor to lift weights or do agility drills. Walking right past the underground gym – from where he could hear the grunts and chatter of Junior's men – Jaune headed right to the back of the basement.

The room he was looking for was right at the end of the corridor, with a thick, almost vault-like metal door providing the only way in or out.

Pulling the door open, Jaune entered the airless, empty room.

There was nothing within the chamber – literally, nothing – beyond the four gray walls, a gray ceiling, and a gray floor, the last of which was inlaid with the irregular whorls born of the careless settling of concrete.

The chamber was, in short, the perfect place for Jaune to practise his semblance, without having to fear setting everything in the vicinity afire, or to risk murdering bystanders just through the radiant heat his flames emitted.

Coming to a standstill in the middle of the empty room, Jaune took a deep breath.

Bring up both his hands, he held them out in front of his chest, as if they were grasping an imaginary sphere.

Then, he called the fire –

– and the fire came, a ball of white hot flames blazing into existence.

Jaune concentrated on making it burn even fiercer, even hotter, and more intensely than ever.

Given his semblance's intrinsic weakness – where any use of it, great or small, drew down a significant portion of his aura reserves – Jaune needed to maximize the effectiveness of each individual instance of usage. That meant generating sufficiently intense flames that could burn right through any defence, and vaporize just about any attack.

_Fiercer. Fiercer. __**Fiercer**__. _

The miniature sun raged within his palms, the heat it was radiating so utterly intense that –

_! ! !_

His aura sense screamed a warning, and Jaune's neck prickled, in that telltale sign of dawning danger.

Without hesitation, Jaune dismissed his semblance. His flames disappeared in an instant; snuffed out, like a candle in the wind.

It was just in time, too, as the scarred huntress from earlier stomped into the room, naked rapier in hand.

"Arc! You..."

Her speech was slurred, her gait unsteady. The woman was drunk – that much was clear. Equally apparent, too, was the fact that she was spoiling for trouble. Aura senses did not lie – if they warned that someone was intending you harm, and that there was a threat, then you _were_ under attack.

Jaune himself was unarmed; but for all that, he was unafraid. Even without his sword in hand, his physical abilities were far beyond the woman's own, and the day he feared losing to such an unexceptional opponent was the day he hung up his blade and became a farmer, like his ancestors had been before Jeanne Arc decided she preferred killing to tilling, and heroism to harvesting.

Instead of feeling fear, therefore, Jaune was busy cursing his own carelessness. It was the height of stupidity and negligence, to have failed to lock the door. Had the huntress seen his semblance, she could easily have realized that Jaune was the mysterious assailant aiding the Fang at the airbase that night. After all, Jaune had used both his sword and his semblance during the attack, and it was no great leap of logic to infer that the attacker was one and the same person as the disgraced former trainee huntsman with pyrokinesis for a semblance and a sword as his main weapon.

As it was, the woman already seemed to suspect him, and Jaune was starting to worry that he was going to need to take some very extreme measures to keep his secret safe.

_Still, best not to jump to conclusions._

Ignoring the naked steel being brandished about by the huntress, Jaune asked, bluntly,

"What do you want?"

The question seemed to only infuriate the woman even more; with her eyes narrowed to flints and her mouth bared into a snarl, she snapped,

"You fucking traitor. Why are you helping the White Fang?"

Jaune tensed.

"They can't beat us humans in an honest fight, so they turn to _politics_ instead – and you're helping them; helping these animals seize power so they can stab us huntsmen in the back!"

_Ah._

Despite the diatribe directed straight into his face, Jaune relaxed.

The woman, meanwhile, continued her rant.

"Don't deny it! It's been all over the grapevine! The faunus terrorists are trying to win that election, and you're helping them."

Jaune could not help but smile, as he let both his relief and contempt show.

He had feared the worst, initially; he had thought that the woman had put two and two together, and had come here to confront him, over his role in the airbase raid.

But now, Jaune saw that it was not knowledge, but ignorance, that had brought the huntress here. The woman's unadulterated bigotry, and her hatred for the faunus – it was those that had compelled her to challenge him.

Sharply, Jaune retorted,

"The Faunus Justice Party isn't the White Fang. And if you can't tell the difference between the two, then maybe you're a massive racist who are causing the very problem you say you hate – faunus resorting to violence instead of peaceful methods of change."

The woman's face reddened even further.

"You piece of shit. How dare you make excuses for the faunus? _We're_ the good guys; _they're_ the terrorists. Just two weeks ago, Adam Taurus and his bunch of pscyhos attacked the airbase my team was guarding! They crippled everyone, broke arms and legs, like, like..."

The woman choked up, her outrage leaving her unable to put thought to words.

Jaune's jaw tightened, as the woman unwittingly threw his crimes into his face.

He knew that what he had done was for the best, but all the same he felt some regret – not about his actions per se, so over necessity of them.

Still, the knowledge that he was responsible for the severe injuries of the various soldiers and huntsmen moved him to adopt a more conciliatory tone.

"I heard about the attack. I'm sorry to what happened to you and your team. But not every faunus is White Fang. You can't blame a whole race of people just for the crimes of a few –"

The huntress didn't even let him finish his sentence.

"Of course I'll blame the whole lot of them! Where do you think the White Fang gets its support from? And they have the nerve to claim _they're_ discriminated against? My teammates are lying in crippled in Vale General right now, because there aren't enough healers; and I _know_ from the hospital doctors that this is because that Belladonna bitch – _your_ teammate – got special treatment. Vale's best healers, a whole team of them, burnt three full days on her, leaving a huge backlog of patients. And what about my team? Why do they have to wait, and she doesn't?"

Jaune grimaced.

He was glad that Blake was alive and well, but there was no denying that Ozpin's intervention had come at a cost. The triage system existed for a reason, to allocate limited healing resources to the best uses; and when healers were pulled away to cure one person, that meant another going unhealed. That Blake did not, strictly speaking, deserve high prioritization, only rubbed salt in the wounds of those who got the short end of the stick. With her near fatal injuries leaving only a low chance of survival even with healing, Blake needed a disproportionate amount of resources to be saved – resources that would almost certainly have been better spent saving a greater number of other people.

Had Blake been anyone other than the daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie, she would have been left to die – of that, Jaune had no doubt.

To the angry huntress, Jaune sought to gently explain matters.

"Don't blame Blake. She didn't ask for special treatment. It just happens that she's the daughter of the Chieftain of Menagerie, and either Ozpin or the Council decided they didn't want to risk any conflict over –"

The huntress interrupted Jaune once more, her voice cutting through the air harshly.

"Fuck Menagerie. Fuck the animals. I hope they all die."

Whatever sympathy Jaune had for the huntress dissipated, the slur and the hatred instead deepening his distaste of this woman who could only be described as a raging bigot.

Continuing her rant unabated, and lacking even the slightest sense of shame or reserve, she said,

"Those animals have been killing us humans for ages. My father and grandfather both died in the Faunus War, murdered by those animals at the Battle of Fort Castle. If only the cowardly politicians hadn't lost their nerve after Lagune shit the bed, we could have won, and killed them all. If Ghira Belladonna wants to make a fuss over his daughter dying, and if he wants conflict, then _bring it_. We can put him and his little zoo in their place –"

"Enough."

Jaune's quiet voice rang out, to stop the huntress's utterly unhinged ravings before they could go even further.

"Spew your hatred elsewhere. But do it in front of me any longer, and I will rearrange your face with my fist."

The threat unnerved the woman, but only for a moment; her face soon settled into a sneer, and she jeered,

"Try that, and I'll skewer you like a pig. You're not the one in control here."

In the blink of an eye, Jaune was seizing the huntress by the forearms, his hands pressing down upon her flesh, at the exact spots where, two weeks ago, he had shattered the bones in both her right arm and her left.

She gasped in pain, the force Jaune was exerting upon her recently healed injury forcing her to drop her rapier, and to almost collapse to her knees.

Jaune gave it another second, and then let go, even as he brought his right foot forward to step on the fallen blade.

"Leave. If you want your weapon back, leave your address with the bartender and I'll get them to post it back to you."

Even as she staggered back, cradling her trembling arms, the woman shot him a look of pure venom.

"This isn't over, Arc. Watch your back."

With that parting threat, she then stumbled out of the room.

Jaune released a sigh.

This was another enemy he didn't need; but perhaps it was an enemy he wanted. The amount of hatred the huntress held, against faunuskind – it was staggering, and Jaune was half-certain that the woman was one mental break away from just going around to beat up random faunus.

She was nothing more than the other side of the coin to Adam Taurus; both were fools blinded by their hatred, and who could only see others as members of a group and not as individuals.

_Well, not much I can do about that._

With a shake of his head, Jaune turned his focus back onto his semblance training.

After making sure that the door was locked properly – unlike the first time around – Jaune proceeded with his training, and with trying to get his flames to as great a temperature as possible.

With how aura-intensive his semblance was, Jaune could not maintain the intense flames for more than a minute at a time. Even with generous breaks in between attempts, the whole training session ended up taking less than half an hour –

– which was right on time, as his scroll beeped to warn him that it was ten minutes to one.

Picking up the huntress's rapier, Jaune made his way out of the basement, and back onto the second floor of the warehouse where the pub was. After depositing the sword with a bemused Junior, Jaune then climbed his way to the third and final floor.

He had been here before a fair number of times, for when he needed to talk business with Junior in private. Using his decent familiarity of the layout of the place, Jaune made his way over to meeting room four.

It was a small room, with a table capable of seating perhaps eight. Shutting the door and locking it for good measure, Jaune then settled down on a chair at the head of the table, right across the large display terminal mounted on the wall at the front of the room

He could have done the whole video call from his own rundown apartment, but he preferred speaking to a full-sized image of Weiss, compared to hunching over his scroll and squinting at a thumbnail.

Linking his scroll to the display terminal, Jaune then opened up the integrated messaging app on his scroll, before instantiating a video call with Weiss –

– which was accepted virtually immediately, as Weiss appeared on the screen.

With her hair white as winter snow, and the furious scar over her eye leaving her imperfect and flawed and exquisite all the more, Weiss Schnee looked as beautiful as ever.

At the same time, there was a tension around her eyes, and a tightness to her shoulders, that Jaune was not used to seeing in her.

Softly, Jaune said,

"Hey, Weiss."

Her blue eyes met his.

"Jaune."

Business, and the affairs of state, could all wait. Instead, Jaune inquired,

"How have you been?"

She seemed to give his question some consideration, before taking a deep breath, and then exhaling.

"I've been better. Work has been exceedingly busy, and my father... is not easy to work with."

"Ah. That bad?"

"As bad as ever. He's unreasonable, dishonest, hypocritical, rude and dictatorial."

Weiss's voice got progressively tighter and tighter the longer she spoke, and the more she held forth on her father's appalling behaviour and utter lack of character.

Jaune was not unfamiliar with the matter, Weiss having spoken about why she had left Atlas in the first place; but the intensity of the abhorrence she now evinced towards her father was on another level altogether.

Quietly, Jaune offered,

"I'm sorry to hear that, I really am."

Then, to break the tension, he added,

"Sounds difficult, working with people who are unreasonable, rude, and dictatorial. Unless of course, they're a pretty girl, in which case it's weirdly endearing – as I know all too well, isn't that right, princess?"

His words caught her off-guard, and it took a second for them to truly register.

When they did, Weiss looked torn, between outrage and amusement; shaking her head,

"As much an ass as ever I see, Arc –"

Her face then settled into a more serious aspect.

"– but it's good to see you again, truly. How have you been, yourself?"

Jaune gave an ambivalent shrug.

"The whole of Vale hates me, which isn't great, but whatever – being disliked isn't the end of the world."

"That's good to hear."

Weiss seemed pleased that he wasn't getting too bothered by the public censure; Jaune, meanwhile, moved to speak again –

– before hesitating. It was a sensitive topic to bring up now...

... but he needed to be certain.

Speaking up, he asked,

"And how are you holding up over Pyrrha's death, Weiss?

Confusion flittered across his friend's face, as she tilted her head to the side and pursued her lips.

"A strange matter to bring up, Jaune. I am... fine? Pyrrha's death was tragic and terrible, and I grieve for her. However, dwelling on her passing will not bring her back to life. It is better that we look to the future, and devote our efforts on making the world better."

Jaune took in Weiss's words in silence, his eyes never leaving hers.

He himself was uncertain as to how to proceed.

The view Weiss was expressing was deeply reasonable, and highly mature –

– but knowing that it was irrational to wallow in grief was very different from actually being able avoid it.

Jaune could do just that, easily; his life had been so full of death and tragedy that he was used to it all by now. He was an old hand at mastering his grief, and at turning it to something productive.

Weiss, however... by all accounts, she ought to have been badly despondent, at best, and emotionally traumatized, at worst. She had, after all, just experienced the brutal death of a friend and teammate; and it was only human to be scarred by that, and to have one's mind return – obsessively, constantly, inescapably – to that which caused one such great distress.

"Weiss, if you feel the need to talk about Pyrrha, or anything else at all, I'm here for you."

Despite the sincerity of his offer, Weiss squinted at him, her eyes betraying a potent mix of suspicion and worry.

"Thank you for your concern, Jaune, but I genuinely don't require your help or anyone else's on that front. Though I cannot help but wonder..."

It was now Weiss's turn to hesitate, until she summoned the resolve to push through, and say,

"... why are you asking this, Jaune? Are you yourself struggling to come to terms with your partner's death?"

Jaune shook his head.

"No. You know what happened at Domremy –"

_Most of it, at least._

"– and you know I'm no stranger to the deaths of people close to me. For better or for worse, I'm quite good at managing grief by now. But for you... it's just that I thought you might have a harder time, being unused to –"

"Jaune –"

Weiss interrupted him, one eyebrow raised in scepticism.

"– what makes you think my childhood left me unfamiliar with death?"

That stopped Jaune short.

He got a sense of where Weiss was coming from, and what she was referring to – the White Fang's attacks against the SDC had been brutal, and growing up in such a climate of fear would well have accustomed her to the reality that was human mortality.

Nodding slowly, he said,

"I understand."

When no further response from Weiss was forthcoming, Jaune got the hint, that she wasn't interested in sharing more about the matter at hand – a choice Jaune respected. Everyone had secrets, not least him.

Deciding to shift the conversation away from the personal, and towards business, Jaune asked,

"Anyway, how has your work been progressing? Do you expect to make substantial headway on reforming the SDC?"

The question prompted Weiss to smile, mild amusement bringing a gentle curl to her lips.

"Jaune, it's been two weeks. How much progress could I have made? My father has appointed me an advisor in the CEO's office, so I can watch how he runs the company and prepare how to do the same in time. This position gives me some influence – but I don't have enough real power to force through reforms, and that's not going to change any time soon. It'll take years for me to prove myself, and to show that I'm smart and capable and ruthless enough to be trusted with greater power and responsibility. _Then_, only then, can we talk about change."

Jaune nodded in understanding; and then, cautiously, he segued into asking,

"But you do agree that the SDC needs to change, right?"

Weiss had long been in denial about the violence and virtual slavery happening in some of the Schnee camps – and it took Ozpin himself bluntly telling her that it was all true, for her to start accepting reality.

Just as the headmaster had given Jaune a mission, so too had he assigned one to Weiss. And whilst Jaune's was by far more consequential – as the fate of the world rested on his getting into Salem's inner circle – Weiss herself was burdened with grave purpose. She needed to gain sufficient power within the SDC, so that she could reform its abusive labour practices, and remove one of the chief reasons that faunus supported the White Fang.

Weiss took some time to consider his carefully-worded question; and it was only after long seconds that she finally allowed, grudgingly,

"Yes, of course. While I do not believe the abuse is as endemic as the Liberty International reports and muckraking newspapers make it out to be, it definitely does exist, and must be stopped."

Jaune nodded, reassured. Unseemly as her hedging was, and hesitant as she was being, at least she accepted the existence of the problem – a far cry and vast improvement from her early days at Beacon, when she would hotly deny that faunus were being at all mistreated in the Schnee camps.

Again choosing his next words with care, Jaune put forth –

"Yes, all those beatings and rape and mutilation are terrible. But admittedly, most faunus face an altogether more mundane sort of discrimination, right? Random stops and shootings by the police, high arrest rates, more severe punishments than what's meted out for humans.

Weiss nodded, vigorously.

"They do! And yet these matters aren't as widely discussed – because the press and the people prefer the sensationalism about the SDC,."

Jaune smiled; this was what he had been working up towards, and he was not disappointed.

Before bringing up the Faunus Justice Party and their electoral campaign, Jaune wanted the very discrimination they were fighting against fresh in Weiss's mind. And to the extent that the existence of such injustice made the Schnees look better – by giving them companions in guilt – Weiss was all the more inclined to agree that this sort of discrimination was a problem, and stood in need of solving.

And so _now_, Jaune brought the conversation to the very thing that had made him call this meeting.

"I'm glad you agree that this sort of discrimination is serious; I think so too. That's why I recently volunteered with the Faunus Justice Party, to serve as an informal advisor for the upcoming by-election in the Vale 14th district. The FJP is keenly aware of the injustice they face – the arbitrary stops, the endless arrests, the disproportionate imprisonment – and are looking to change all that, through peaceful political participation; and all this despite gerrymandering and the whole electoral system being rigged against them.

"That said, the FJP is desperately needs funding with which to run their campaign. And that's why I would really appreciate it if you could set up a meeting with your father for me, so I can pitch him the idea of supporting the FJP."

Weiss's eyes had narrowed the moment he first mentioned the FJP; and the initial creasing of her brow only deepened into a full blown frown, as he finished his brief by asking for campaign funding.

Sharply, she asked,

"And you are certain that this crowd you've fallen in with, this Faunus Justice Party, is free of White Fang sympathizers? And that the candidate they seek to field does not secretly approve of terrorism?"

"The candidate is Blake."

To say that Weiss was surprised would have been an understatement; incredulity blossomed on her face, her mouth falling open and her eyebrows racing up to meet her hair.

"What? That's..."

Weiss trailed off. Then, despite her initial exclamation of surprise, a thoughtful look began to overtake her face.

"... that's perhaps not too surprising, come to think of it... Her father is a politician, and I suppose it's not strange that Blake would similarly choose to go into politics and peacefully promote the interests of her people. Yes..."

Weiss seemed altogether more relaxed now.

"... yes, if Blake is involved I don't see..."

"Blake was once a member of the White Fang."

Jaune delivered the bombshell bluntly.

"_What?_"

If Weiss had been surprised before, she was disbelieving now.

"If this is a joke, Jaune, it isn't funny. Or do you mean she was a member of the White Fang when it was under Ghira Belladonna and still peaceful –"

"No."

Jaune shook his head, and moved to extinguish that misconception.

"I mean that Blake was literally part of Sienna Khan's militant White Fang until last year."

Horror twisted Weiss's face; and then the rage took over, cold and thrumming.

Her eyes hard, and her tone harsh, she demanded,

"If that's true, why are you asking me to help?"

Jaune exhaled, and ran a hand through his head in agitation.

He was telling Weiss the truth about Blake, not just because Weiss deserved to know, but because it could well come out further down the line, and the repercussions of concealing such a thing...

... it would have been ugly, and would have threatened the success of the campaign, to say nothing of their personal relationship.

Weiss needed to hear this now, and from him.

_Doesn't make it any easier, though._

Slowly, and picking his words with the greatest of care, Jaune said,

"I understand that you're angry but –"

He never had the chance to finish, for the next moment, Weiss's self-control disintegrated, and she herself exploded.

"I can't _believe_ you're asking me to help a terrorist! And Blake! She's White Fang? These brutal, bestial, insane, _inhuman_ murderers? These _animals_? Don't you know what they've done to me, to my family?"

Jaune tried to speak, but Weiss did not give him the chance, as she continued her seething tirade.

"Do you know how many people close to me, close to my family, have been killed by these subhuman criminals? And in such absolutely abhorrent ways?

"Family friends would have dinner with us one day and then disappear the next – only to come back, _piece by piece_, their dismembered body parts mailed to us one small part at a time! The head one day, the torso the next, the arms follow, then the hands, and finally the legs when nothing else is left."

Jaune was no longer trying to speak at this point; and for all that he was capable of ruthless brutality, what Weiss was describing left even him queasy.

And she was still not done.

"Board members! SDC directors! Lower level managers! Kidnapped, and executed. And do you know how they were executed? The depraved, degenerate White Fang kidnappers made the captives themselves choose who should to die! They had to vote on who amongst them got to live, and who had to die. The last moments of life these poor people had, and they were manipulated into arguing with each other, turning on each other, betraying each other. And of course, the White Fang sent us a video of all this happening. I saw some of it, and it was sickening – seeing these people clamber over each other in an unseemly scramble to survive; watching these unfortunate souls be reduced by despair and desperation into becoming something less than human.

"Who thinks up of such an evil, inhuman scheme? Only sadists. Only monsters. And _that's_ the White Fang, Jaune. _That's_ who they are. _That's_ Blake Belladonna."

Finally, Weiss fell silent.

The rage had burnt its course by now; and all that was left was a cold, abiding hate.

Then, softly, and with her words laced through with dark mirth, Weiss added,

"You asked me earlier, whether I was coping well with Pyrrha's death... and I told you, I'm quite familiar with death. Well, now you know why. You're not the only one whose childhood is piled high with corpses."

Jaune felt cold.

Numb with horror, and sick with pity, he did not know what to do, nor what to say.

He dipped his head, and stared vacantly down at the table.

_Remember why you're here._

It took real mental effort – and a marshalling of all his determination – to make himself look up again.

Weiss was bright-eyed; almost animated – like the recounting of her past, and of the terrible tragedy that had made her desire the destruction of the Fang, had somehow made her feel more alive than ever.

_Like her hate had reaffirmed the worth of living itself._

Jaune forced himself to focus. Gathering his scattered thoughts, he said,

"I understand why you hate the Fang. And I understand why you would resent Blake. I won't make excuses for her past, but I will say that, as a purely practical matter, we have nothing to fear from her. She might have joined Sienna Khan's White Fang, but the organization's violence and brutality eventually disturbed and disgusted her so much that she left.

"She of all people now knows that terrorism is evil, and never justifiable. The fact that she has turned her back on her past should be clear from the fact that you're still alive. If Blake were truly still a Fang sympathizer at heart, she could have easily killed you at Beacon. She could have shot you while your slept; put a bomb in our dumb; or even sabotaged Myrtenaster so it blew you up the next time you tried using the dust within it.

"Blake has changed, Weiss. So as a politician, she's not going to defend the White Fang's actions as understandable, or imply to other faunus that violence is acceptable."

Jaune could see Weiss's lips curl up in absolute disdain; anticipating that she wanted to say something cutting, he raised a hand, to buy himself some time to say the next, crucial bit.

"But be that as it may, ultimately, I don't have a choice in this, Weiss. Ozpin might have expelled me, but I'm not going quietly. As I might have told you before, I'm doing this particular... influential lady a few favours, and in return, she will help me get even with the headmaster. Are you going to help me, or not?"

It was a none-too-subtle reference to the Salem mission – and the invocation of a decisive reason that would compel Weiss to lend her assistance.

Jaune waited.

Weiss was glaring at him, her lips pressed into a thin line; clearly, she didn't like being strong-armed into aiding their former teammate the former terrorist with her electoral campaign.

However, Weiss had no choice, and it was a foregone conclusion that she would say, angrily –

"_Fine_. You wanted to meet my father? I'll get you a meeting. But Jaune –"

There was malice now, so unlike anything he was used to hearing out of her.

"– I don't forgive terrorists. One day, when Blake thinks her past is finally buried and her crimes forgotten –"

Weiss's blue eyes were clear as the winter sky, and just as bitter cold.

"– I will dig them all out, and tell the world the truth."

-(=RWBY=)-


	19. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow IX

Jaune had little he could say after Weiss's declaration; if she wanted to destroy Blake by revealing the truth in the fullness of time, there was not much he could do.

Deciding to leave that problem for another day, he instead worked to sort out some key details with Weiss, on how to best to convince her father at the meeting later.

It was a useful talk, though terse, and cut short before long by Weiss's need to move on to the next appointment in her busy schedule.

Jaune himself had his own responsibilities to see to, and so after bidding farewell to Weiss – and getting courteous but chilly parting words in reply – he began to get to work.

The subsequent afternoon was spent in a blur of planning and organization, with important discussions had and urgent calls placed.

He also had to fit a shopping trip in between everything else, in an experience he did not enjoy, to purchase clothes he thought extravagant.

Regardless, all his efforts culminated later that evening, when he and Blake found themselves in a hotel room, awkward and uncomfortable in formal attire.

"Stop fidgeting."

Blake's admonishment came during his latest – but certainly not last – attempt at shifting his shoulders within his suit to try and make the latter feel more comfortable.

Blake looked hardly more at ease herself, in her black haltertop dress with sheer silk sleeves and a slit running down the skirt.

Taking her advice, Jaune ceased his futile efforts to become comfortable in his own clothes, and instead took a seat on a sofa, right next to the one his former classmate was already occupying.

The hotel room they were in was luxury incarnate, from the bathtub so big it was virtually a pool, to the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the river and the city centre, and to the king-sized bed so soft one could sink into it and forget all troubles and worries.

They were here in this room, as Weiss suggested, and they were wearing formal business attire, as Weiss had all but commanded.

He and Blake needed to make a good impression on Jacques Schnee, and as his own daughter – who knew him better than almost anyone else alive – expressly warned –

_Look unprofessional, or unserious, and my father will not give you the respect you deserve. He will judge you amateurs dabbling in matters you do not understand, or worse, children playing at the affairs of adults. He will think nothing you say worth listening to, and nothing you propose worth supporting._

And so here they were – Jaune in a suit bought off the shelf mere hours ago, and Blake in a dress rented out just for this occasion.

There was still some time to go before their meeting, and preferring conversation to awkward silence, Jaune spoke up, to remark,

"This isn't the first time I've been here in this hotel. This hotel – the Sky Garden – was where Councilman Viren was holding a high-society soiree for the sons and daughters of Vale's elite. Ozpin wanted Weiss and I in attendance, to sell them on the idea of a huntsman career."

Blake listened in silence, not saying a word until the end, when she quietly added,

"And then the White Fang attacked."

Jaune found his mouth twisting.

"Yes. They kidnapped Weiss, took her away. And what they intended to do... well..."

Jaune trailed off, but then Blake spoke. Her face expressionless, and her voice without inflection, she stated,

"It would be a fate far worse than death for Weiss. Torture, mutilation and then execution."

Blake was blunt, her words detailing the horrors that Weiss would have been subject to, had he failed that day.

It was sobering.

"Yes. But thank the gods I managed to track Weiss down and kill all her captors, before they could do anything to her."

Jaune could remember the crushing relief he felt when he had finally located the warehouse Weiss was being held in. He could also recall the brutal combat that followed – and the sheer horror that twisted his guts, when Neo's semblance made him think that Weiss had died.

He had managed to figure out the truth and kill the illusionist, but the memory of that false reality haunted him still. Weiss with her stomach slit, the crimson blood streaming down her white dress; Jaune stumbling forward, his hands reaching futilely out, unable to heal, unable to help.

It was an unpleasant memory to dredge up, and Jaune was more than happy to turn his attention to Blake, when she spoke up once more to say,

"Weiss must have grateful to you for saving her. You two got along much better after that."

Jaune gave a non-committal shake of the head.

"Yes and no. It's more that the rescue gave the both of us the chance to finally apologize, for some of terrible things we said to each other previously."

"I see. Regardless, you two began spending so much time together, it was almost unsettling – going from sworn enemies to fast friends like that... it raised a few eyebrows."

Jaune laughed, softly. It was true that he and Weiss had increasingly chosen each other's company, in the time after the kidnapping, and in Rothenburg itself.

It was a simpler, happy time.

The smile must have lingered on his face too long, however, for Blake's golden eyes turned appraising.

"You like her, don't you?"

Jaune raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I do, she's my friend –"

The corner of Blake's lips twitched up, in an almost-smile.

"No, Jaune. _I'm_ your friend. _She's_ something more than that."

Jaune hid a grimace.

_I... hope so? Think so? Don't know? _

He didn't dare presume – and there was plenty of time to see where they would take things, once his mission was done, and once they could actually spend time together.

In the end, Jaune could only say, equivocally,

"Maybe."

Blake nodded, as if that was as good as an admission – and perhaps it was.

Now looking thoughtful more than anything else, she asked, quietly,

"Why do you like her?"

Jaune shrugged.

"Why not? Weiss is smart, beautiful, _assertive_ – any guy would like her. I'm sure that plenty of suitors are falling over themselves to impress her."

"Jealous, Jaune?"

Blake's tone of voice was even, but Jaune could sense the mischievousness behind her question.

Snorting, he replied,

"Reading _Ninjas of Love_ again, I see."

Where once the reference would have turned Blake red with embarrassment, now she only replied, deadpan,

"I haven't had the time, actually. And your situation is nothing like what happens in the fine literature I read. The male protagonists aren't such awkward virgins, for one."

Unable to help himself, Jaune laughed, though his chuckling turned into a cough towards the end, as embarrassment asserted itself over amusement.

Wincing, he said,

"Touche, Belladonna."

His former teammate appeared less pleased at the success of her quip that he would have thought, however, and her thoughts seemed already to have drifted on to more serious matters.

Pensive once more, she said, softly,

"I suppose, in the end, we don't choose who we love."

The weightiness of her words surprised Jaune, somewhat.

Sensing that there was something deeper there, he asked, carefully, and with some delicacy,

"Bad experience on your end, Blake?"

She grimaced.

"Something like that."

There was history there, and heartbreak – that much was obvious. Not wanting to open old wounds, or distract Blake before the all-important meeting, Jaune kept silent – he wasn't about to push, or to badger Blake into talking about something so clearly discomfiting.

Blake did not speak for the longest time, though everything about her body – from the biting of her lips and the curling of her fingers against the couch – spoke to her agitation.

Taking a deep breath, Blake seemed to come to a decision.

Turning to him, she said, firmly,

"I used to date Adam Taurus."

Jaune winced.

_Taurus?_

It was a rude surprise, but on more considered reflection, Blake's admission was not the most astonishing thing he could imagine – if she had been in the Fang, she could well have known the man.

There was a lot Jaune wanted to ask Blake – but he resisted the impulse. There was no guarantee that the room was not bugged, and the last thing they needed was someone overhearing Blake inadvertently confessing to terrorism.

Instead, he asked, in a question mirroring that which Blake had earlier posed to him –

"Why did you like him?"

And it was now Blake's turn to shrug, albeit helplessly. Turning his own words from earlier back upon him, she replied,

"Why _not_? Adam's handsome, and charismatic...he's the tall, dark and brooding sort that silly girls fall in love with all the time."

Blake was as blunt in her assessment to the point of self-deprecation; which, to Jaune's mind, only raised the question –

"So what happened in the end?"

Blake shook her head, more in sorrow than in anger.

"In the end, he cared more about hurting humans than freeing the faunus... and I couldn't take it anymore. And so I left him."

_And left the Fang, too_ – that was the unspoken bit that Jaune could infer well enough.

Of course, now he knew of Blake's history with Taurus, certain pressing concerns presented themselves.

"Does Taurus bear a grudge? Now that you're in the public eye, and running for political office – will he come for you? Sienna Khan might understand the necessity of politics, and refuse to authorize an attack on you... but Taurus may not care at all.

Blake frowned at him.

"You say that as if you know him."

Jaune ignored that – he too had to tread carefully, to avoid revealing any information that could link him to the Fang and to his own involvement with the raid on the airbase.

Instead, he pressed the question.

"Answer me, Blake."

She looked away.

"Yes. No. Maybe."

The prevarication annoyed him, also told him enough. The fact that Blake could not commit to a straight _no_ spoke volumes of what Adam Taurus could well do.

"He might attack, then. Fine – we'll just have to be on our guard."

Blake looked far from reassured, however, and she warned –

"Adam's strong, Jaune; very strong."

Jaune smiled, without humour. Blake's warning was sincerely made, but also superfluous. Jaune had fought Adam, man to man, blade against blade; he knew just how strong his fellow swordsman was –

– and just how far short of Jaune's own strength Taurus nonetheless fell.

Calmly, Jaune asked Blake,

"Is he stronger than Rainart?"

Blake hesitated, seemingly in two minds, caught as she was between the truth, and the desire not to underestimate the fearsome Adam Taurus.

In the end, the truth won out.

"Rainart was stronger. Much stronger."

"And Rainart's dead. You have nothing to worry about Blake – if Taurus attacks, I'll kill him."

If anything, Jaune's words only made Blake appear even more conflicted.

As he watched her face dance between acceptance and apprehension, it was clear Blake still harboured some feelings for Taurus – enough so that the prospect of his death brought her the furthest thing from joy.

Mindful of her feelings, and wanting to be considerate, Jaune added,

"Though perhaps Taurus won't try anything at all. Raiding some isolated mining camp or military installation is one thing; attacking us, here, in the middle of Vale, at the heart of huntsman power – that would foolish beyond belief, and whatever we think of him, Adam Taurus isn't stupid."

Blake did not reply, and Jaune found himself restless enough that he got up to pace.

He strode to the window, to look out.

The city was beautiful, as always – a thousand points of light, so bright the stars themselves were wiped from sight.

For a long while, he drank in the view, and let it soothe him.

Still, feeling the need not to let the Adam Taurus matter just hang there, unresolved, he eventually said,

"I promise I'll keep you safe, Blake. I failed to protect you and Pyrrha at Rothenburg, but this time..."

Perhaps it just hard to read Blake, but Jaune could have sworn she looked pained.

Any doubt he had about his friend's feelings, however, vanished, when she said,

"I'm not going to sit back and do nothing while you protect me, Jaune. If Adam attacks, I'll fight him beside you."

She swallowed, even as she clenched her fists.

"I stood by and did nothing when Rainart killed Pyrrha. Never again."

Jaune frowned.

"There was nothing you could do, Blake."

And that was the honest truth, but Blake only shook her head – she clearly didn't see things that way.

"I could have shot at him with Gambol Shroud – drawn his attention, forced him to fight me rather than finish off Pyrrha."

Her words only deepened his frown, and his reply came quick on the heels of a sceptical raise of his brows.

"That would certainly have worked... for all of one second. And then Rainart have punched you. And then you would have been dead."

Blake fixed him with a look.

"I could have used my clones to misdirect him while Pyrrha got away."

Jaune only shook his head, grimly.

"There was nowhere to go."

And still Blake argued –

"We could have reached you, and then helped you fight him."

Jaune thought about it – thought about it, and then dismissed it.

"No. Most of my fight with Rainart involved running away – using speed and skill to stay one step ahead, and only trading blows when the alternative was certain death. Had I needed to protect both you and a Pyrrha lacking her aura, I would have been forced to stand and fight – and I would have died."

Even as he said that, he was regretting his words, when he saw how Blake's eyes gleamed, then, bitter-bright, and grimly satisfied.

With stinging derision directed more at herself than at him, she asked,

"So you agree that I was deadweight?"

"No!"

Jaune's frustration boiled over, and he snapped at Blake. It was – he now realized – a mistake, to have even been drawn into such a conversation in the first place.

To talk about what Blake could have done, _should_ have done; all this assumed that the events of Rothenburg were somehow within her control, and that she was in some form responsible – and hence, in some way to blame.

And _that_ pernicious idea Jaune wholeheartedly rejected.

Flatly, he said,

"You're not to blame for what happened, Blake. Rainart was too monstrously strong for things to have turned out in any way but this – distractions, clones, teamwork; none of this would have mattered, in the face of a man who could probably punch out a Goliath."

Blake looked away – out of the window, her eyes not meeting his.

Jaune suppressed a sigh.

It was clear that his words had been to no avail.

Blake heard, but did not listen; she took in his argument, but failed to see reason.

Jaune saw it plain, now, where before he could give Blake the benefit of the doubt.

Indubitably – it was survivor's guilt she felt.

Blake was consumed by guilt; riven, by remorse – for surviving herself when Pyrrha did not, and for failing to save their friend, from a death as brutal as it was unjust.

It was irrational – but such was the heart.

Keenly aware that bloodless reason wasn't going to persuade Blake, Jaune decided to give it up. His former teammate needed time to come to terms with the trauma and tragedy, and all he could do was respect that such a process could not be rushed.

Perhaps the best thing he could do now was try and keep Blake's mind off the matter, and so, Jaune said –

"The meeting with Jacques Schnee is starting soon. Are you ready?"

The shift in conversation towards business drew Blake's eyes away from the window and back to him. Twin golden orbs considered him, before she nodded,

"Yes."

Despite her firm answer, Jaune was not so sure. Weiss had warned them that her father was going to give them a difficult time, and with Blake in an uncharacteristically emotional state, Jaune feared that his old teammate was going to be less than controlled – that she would fail to play things perfectly, as they had to.

"Are you certain, Blake? You know what Weiss said – about him intending to test us, and how. It'll be provocative, and we can't afford –"

"Jaune. _I know_."

Blake was not quite glaring at him, but her annoyance was clear.

Jaune nodded his head, but also said,

"I'll take your word for it. And Blake, remember – if you lash out, and this campaign collapses into failure, it'll be your people that will suffer."

If she hadn't been glaring at him before, she was definitely glaring at him now – but Jaune only stared back, impassive. He would take her displeasure now, than risk her forgetting the stakes, and acting recklessly because of it.

There was no room for error, no margin for mistakes. As Weiss kept emphasizing, credibility was crucial, and if they showed themselves incapable of even controlling their emotions, any claim they had to competence and professionalism would be destroyed in an instant.

Nonetheless, the graceless way that Jaune had phrased the reminder so irked Blake, and that retorted, icily,

"Save the lecture, Arc. I'm faunus, and I know the stakes, better than you."

Convinced, Jaune dipped his head –

– and just in time, for his scroll beeped.

He took it out, checked it, and announced,

"It's Weiss. Shall we begin?"

He projected the screen of his scroll onto the hotel room's large television screen, and then accepted the call.

"Weiss."

The Schnee heiress appeared on screen, a beautiful evening gown flowing off her shoulders.

"Jaune."

She sounded tired, but her greeting was fond.

Any warmth in her voice evaporated, however, when she turned her attention to Blake,

"Belladonna."

Her voice could have frozen Vacuo thrice over, such was the glacial hostility she exuded.

"Schnee."

Blake's own voice was frigid, and just the bit mocking.

All in all, they were off to a good start.

Weiss could not disguise her animosity for the former terrorist, nor did she even want to. On Blake's part, forewarned as she was that Weiss knew her secret, no surprise was evinced.

Weiss's sky-blue eyes bored into Blake's honey-yellow ones, before the former flicked away, as their owner said to Jaune,

"You have ten minutes before my father has to leave for another engagement. Make every second count."

Jaune nodded.

And just as he did so, the screen shifted, to present an older man, white-haired and white suited, with eyes arrogant and cold.

Perhaps it was what Weiss had always told him that primed Jaune to think so, but looking into those two twin cerulean orbs – so like Weiss's, and yet so not – Jaune got the sense of a man who thought himself better than the world; superior, to all other people.

"Mr Schnee."

Jaune greeted the CEO of the Schnee Dust Corporation politely, even as the man's own reply came dismissively.

"Jaune Arc."

Conspicuous in its absence was a greeting for Blake – a slight, and one fully intended.

"Thank you for meeting us. Your time is valuable, as is ours, so I won't waste any.

"My proposal is for the SDC to channel money to a political action committee as run by Weiss, and whose purpose is to aid Blake Belladonna's election campaign for the Valean Assembly."

The man appeared hardly to be listening; instead, with his left elbow on the table and with his face resting at an angle on his fist, Jacques Schnee looked almost bored.

It was another slight – though whether this was deliberate or unintended Jaune could not say. As Weiss's frequent complaints made crystal clear, Jacques Schnee was utterly inconsiderate of others – the logical end result of a world where extreme wealth bought unearned deference and an immunity to consequence.

Ignoring all this rudeness, Jaune pushed ahead, to make his case.

"I believe such financial support by the SDC for the Belladonna campaign is mutually beneficial. It'll help Blake get elected, but it'll also go some way to improving the SDC's image and popularity – since such support for the faunus rights movement makes it easier to believe the SDC when it claims that it cares for welfare of faunus, and that it seriously investigates allegations of abusive labour practices in the dust camps."

This was a naked appeal to self-interest, and righty so so, for Jacques Schnee cared only for his own aggrandisement, and nothing for the general welfare, or for justice and freedom.

Nonetheless, even with the argument tailored specifically to persuade its general intended audience, Jacques Schnee looked both unenthusiastic and unimpressed.

Lifting his face from his palm, he gestured with his now-free hand.

"Hmph. A fine plan, boy, and a profitable investment for me... _if_ you succeed. But I doubt you can. You are a boy so green, your mother's milk is fresh on your lips – you don't have the influence, or the knowledge, or the resolve to see this through."

Jacques Schnee started off condescending, but ended in a manner positively disparaging.

Tamping down on his annoyance, Jaune made himself respond with cool composure.

"I understand your concern. So let me assuage it by –"

The man's lips curled.

"Talk is cheap. If you want me to trust in your ability to succeed, you can start by showing that you actually exercise control over the faunus you're helping – that they work under you, and not you under them. Send the girl away, and then we can talk business."

Jaune glanced at Blake, whose face was blank but whose eyes were seething.

She was angry, and Jaune could not blame her; Jacques Schnee was being unspeakably rude, and evincing a disrespect that was it hard to swallow.

Nevertheless, Jaune bit his tongue, and moved to say,

"Blake. Please give the two of us some privacy, would you?"

His former teammate nodded, stiffly, before standing.

"Very well. See you later, Jaune. Good evening, Mr Schnee."

Blake managed – remarkably – to conceal any contempt she felt for the CEO of the SDC. With her parting words delivered in a monotone, she then stalked for the exit, thereby leaving Jaune alone with Jacques Schnee.

The man himself gave a mirthless smile.

"Good. I see the Faunus Justice Party listens to you, at least. But influence over that rabble and the ability to lead them is pointless, unless you know politics, and what makes an electoral campaign effective."

"I assure you, Mr Schnee, I know politics all too well."

"Oh, _indeed_?"

Jacques Schnee all but sneered. The raised eyebrow, the scrunching of the nose, the curl of the lips – everything in his body language screamed contempt, and disbelief.

"A _seventeen_ year old boy knows politics? Forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

Despite the constant mockery from the older man, Jaune never gave in to the temptation to respond snarkily himself. Instead, he kept his emotions in check, all the while saying,

"You're welcome to ask me on anything and everything about politics, Mr Schnee."

"Oh, I will."

For all of Jaune's skill with the sword, and for all the power his newfound semblance supplied, his infiltration mission had lately required not his strength but his knowledge – his understanding, of politics and power and what forces governed the world.

_Perhaps Ozpin really was right – when he warned me, that first night we met, that it was not warriors he wanted, but thinkers he needed._

Jacques Schnee was casting a critical eye on Jaune, and rubbing at his chin, before seeming to make up his mind, and saying,

"That shambolic pack of incompetents known as the Council of Mistral have failed to stop Raven Branwen for two decades, and now they're considering devolving even more power to the provinces – a bribe to them, so they don't join Branwen's burgeoning bandit kingdom. I have been asked to be part of an committee advising the Mistralian Council, on this matter of federalization. So tell me, if you are as knowledgeable as you claim – what is my interest in all this?"

Jaune resisted the urge to snort.

Jacques Schnee truly was too transparent.

"Well, Mr Schnee, I could tell you all about how federalism leads to less political oppression, since regional minorities like the Mistralian faunus tribes now get to govern themselves, rather than live under a hostile central government wary of separatism and interested in suppressing their political freedoms. Or I could tell you all about how federalism leads to less armed conflict, since these same minorities no longer feel the need to violently rise up to defend their rights and freedom. But –"

Jaune smiled, humourlessly.

"– I think you and I both know you aren't interested in this kind of stuff. What you're interested in are dust deposits, which the Mistralian provinces are rich in. If the Mistralian Council goes ahead with this federalization scheme, the SDC can swoop in and negotiate some sweetheart mining deals, with these inexperienced provincial governments desperate for cash and tax revenues. And –"

Jacques Schnee interrupted him at that point, to brusquely say,

"And what good will those mining concessions be, when Raven Branwen conquers the region?"

Jaune raised an eyebrow, displaying his scepticism with confidence.

"And why would that be a problem? Raven Branwen's kingdom is built on one simple rule – you obey her, and she protects you. So long as you ask her permission, and lavish her in taxes and tributes, she won't have any objection to the SDC mining the dust from her lands. It's a great deal for you – especially since I doubt murderous bandits care very much about fancy notions like labour laws or environmental protections."

Jacques Schnee had been leaning forward in his chair, but now he sat back. Jaune would not go so far as to say he was satisfied, but he seemed less contemptuous than before. And indeed, he said,

"So you're not a total fool. Good. Perhaps this conversation is not such a waste of my time after all."

The man drummed his fingers upon his desk, before continuing.

"You have some influence with the faunus, and also enough wits to guide them to something better than abject failure. But do you have the ruthlessness needed to win, boy? The world is a harsh, unforgiving place, and to seize victory you have to do whatever's necessary – even if it means hurting people in the bargain."

It was with a lecturing tone that Jacques Schnee delivered his words – as if it was wisdom he was imparting, and invaluable advice he was giving.

Jaune would have smiled contemptuously, had he the latitude to show any disdain, or display any derision.

But because he still needed to avoid antagonizing the richest man in the world, Jaune only let himself say, mildly,

"I'm probably the last person on Remnant who needs any lesson in ruthlessness."

Jacques Schnee didn't quite sneer, but the curl in his lips made his thoughts clear; and what his body implied his words soon stated outright –

"Why? Because you killed some criminals here and there? Hurting those who deserve it is very different from harming those who don't. Only real leaders such as myself – men of courage and nerve – can do the latter, and bring about what's best for the world.

This time Jaune couldn't help himself; concept curled the corner of his lips, and it was only with great effort that he managed to smother the sneer.

Jaune was not opposed to a clear-eyed, hard-hearted approach to doing good and helping others, but Jacques Schnee was being preposterously self-serving here. In the first instance, it was never the good of the world he sought so much as his own narrow self-interest. And in the second, it was truly laughable, to paint a choice to sacrifices others as somehow selflessly noble.

Jaune, who had more than a passing familiarity with such painful sacrifices, could not but feel the deepest of distaste and the most searing of scorn, for a man such as Jacques Schnee – a man who claimed unearned valour and who pretended to be better than he was.

It made Jaune's blood boil, and with that anger came the realization that he needed to bring this discussion to a close – before he could truly lose his patience, and say something that would offend Jacques Schnee and send him storming from the room.

The challenge was persuading the man that Jaune did not lack for ruthlessness – and in that area, Jaune's options were limited.

There was Domremy, of course, and the dark secret that made Jaune everything he was today – but Jaune was never going to reveal such intimate truths to others, let alone to a man as detestable as Jacques Schnee.

And that left Jaune no choice, but to reach for another solution – one whose execution demanded a grave betrayal of confidence.

"Did you know –"

Jaune spoke loudly, and clear.

" – that Blake Belladonna used to be in a romantic relationship with Adam Taurus, before he turned to terrorism?"

Jacques Schnee seemed ready to interrupt, and protest the seeming non-sequitur – but Jaune brought a hand up, and silenced the man before he could make a fuss.

"She broke up with him, of course, as it became apparent that he was a violent sociopath – and now he holds a grudge. With Blake's entry into politics, and the public if implicit rejection of the White Fang's violent methods, Taurus seems moderately likely to mount an attack on Blake – to punish her, and to make an example to warn off other faunus from peaceful engagement."

Jaune paused, before taking a breath. Once he said the following, there was no going back.

"So here's my offer to you, Mr Schnee. I will not inform the police or Huntsman Command of this potential attack; instead, if Taurus makes a move, I will let it go ahead, and seeking to stop it myself.

Jaune gestured with his hand.

"I will protect Blake, of course, and kill the Fang, but even a failed attempt will generate impossible outrage, and weaken the terrorists as they try and fail to persuade more moderate people over to their side. And with all that said and done – isn't all this a public relations strategy well worth supporting?"

Jacques Schnee looked at Jaune. The older man appeared surprised – astonished, even. Sounding hesitant for the first time that evening, he replied,

"You are willing to put your teammate at risk, just to show how ruthless you are?"

Jaune nodded, sharply –

– and the moment he did, Jacques Schnee's whole countenance changed.

It was a subtle thing, almost unnoticeable; but it was there, all the same.

Jaune could just about make it out, from the brightness in his eyes, to the smile ghosting across his lips, and to the way his head fractionally dipped.

Admiration – there was no mistaking it.

Jacques Schnee _respected_ him; for his ruthlessness, and his utter lack of conscience and scruples.

And despite himself, Jaune twitched in discomfort.

He had always known that politics was a dirty business, but being admired by Jacques Schnee made him feel _filthy_.

Still, he could not honestly say he regretted his actions.

He knew the stakes of his mission, knew how many lives they stood to lose.

He knew that all he did was for the greater good – and he understood, that there was almost nothing that could not be justified in its pursuit.

And perhaps it was that which terrified him most of all – the prospect, of what he would eventually be called upon to do.

-(=RWBY=)-

A/N: Looking to take a few weeks' break, before resuming the story.


	20. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow X

The elevator ascended the high-rise condominium building at a slow but steady pace, giving Jaune all the time in the world to look into the mirrors that covered the inside of the lift, and take in the strange sight that was himself.

The man staring back through the looking glass had black hair that stuck up in a wild, untameable mess. His irises were dark, and his eyes themselves were disarmingly wide, and framed by unfashionable military-style glasses. And rounding up the picture was a full beard, extending from above his lips to all over his chin.

The disguise had taken some effort to assemble. Temporary hair dye from a beauty product store hid his distinctive blond locks easily enough, and it was the work of a few seconds to slap on the fake beard he picked up from a costume shop. His eyes, however, had needed far more work, from the insertion of the coloured contact lenses, to the use of eye tapes to pull his eyelids up and change the very shape of his eyes, and to the fitting on of spectacles. The eye tapes had been particularly troublesome – women in Mistral used them to give themselves double eyelids, which were apparently considered more beautiful, but Jaune found their use little more than an unpleasant bother.

Regardless, Jaune had to admire his own handiwork. He looked nothing like himself, which was precisely the point – for he was about to embark on a series of utterly illegal actions, and all in public view to boot.

The elevator dinged, as it arrived at its destination on the twenty-fifth floor.

Jaune stepped out, and began pacing towards his target's apartment.

It was still early in the morning, well before seven, and his target was all but certain to still be at home and abed – a fact he confirmed, when he reached out with his aura sense, and located a civilian's weak and unmoving aura signature within the apartment he was approaching.

He came to a stop in front of his target's apartment.

Needing to avoid the clamour and obvious damage from physically breaking down door – and yet lacking any appreciable skill at lockpicking – Jaune had only one option.

Calling upon his semblance, Jaune gave an almost lazy wave of his left hand.

A flash of intense heat vaporized the lock within the door, and also left the surrounding wood aflame.

Not wanting to set the apartment, or the building afire, Jaune directed his semblance towards extinguishing the flames that had begun eating into the door.

Only then did he push down upon the door handle, and make his way into apartment proper.

His semblance still had that deeply inconvenient limitation, where even minor uses of it drew upon a significant fraction of his aura reserves; hence, instead of letting all that excess aura go to waste, Jaune summoned a small flame into his left hand, to light his way for the next minute or so.

From the harsh light of his summoned flame, Jaune could see that the apartment was a well-appointed place, from the smooth marbled floor, to the stylish modern furniture, to the ornate pendant light fixtures suspended from the ceiling.

It was a far more attractive residence than his own rundown flat, at any rate, and Jaune gave an impressed nod – before making a beeline for the bedroom.

The woman who was his target was fast asleep in bed, and despite his instinctive distaste for what was to come next, Jaune was not so squeamish as to shirk from doing that which needed to be done.

After putting down the briefcase he had been carrying in his right hand, Jaune strode forward. Calmly, he hauled the woman up by the neck; and before she could scream, he had stuffed a piece of cloth into her mouth.

"Mmph! Mmph!"

Ignoring the woman's muffled screams – and the futile punches and kicks she landed against his aura-enhanced body, Jaune pushed her back into the bed, and held her face down with one leg even as he used both hands to unwind some duct tape, with which he bound the woman's mouth shut.

Having eliminated the possibility of his target screaming and alerting the neighbours, Jaune proceeded to bind the woman's hands behind her back, and to similarly tie her legs together – before using an excess of duct tape to secure her limbs to her body, and her body to the frame of the bed.

Only once all that was accomplished, did Jaune turn his attention to finding the object that was the entire reason for his being her in the first place.

After turning on the lights, Jaune started a swiftly and methodological search, and it did not take much time at all for Jaune to locate the woman's wallet – and to fish out the Vale Bureau of Investigation employee identity card nested within.

The cerulean-coloured card was his ticket to breaking into the VBI's headquarters downtown – in the first step of his complicated plan to secure Blake's victory in the election that was rapidly upon them.

Jaune might have previously been successful at persuading the Schnees to provide virtually unlimited funding for the Belladonna campaign, but elsewise nothing else had gone to plan.

The Belladonna name had not been as magical as hoped, and fewer faunus than expected were choosing to support Blake. Her opponent, meanwhile – an older faunus with experience doing charitable work and community organizing in the district – was proving a more formidable political operator than Corsac Albain had anticipated. All this added up to a situation where Blake was ten points down in the opinion polls; and with the election only a day away, there was virtually no chance for Blake to make up ground – unless some drastic measures were taken.

Watts had said as much, when giving Jaune his latest task.

_You need to engineer a significant publicity triumph for Miss Belladonna, and soon._

Failure was not an option, and it was that pressing need to help Blake win her electoral campaign that had led him here – that had made him follow a woman back home from her office, before attacking her in her own bedroom in the darkness of dawn.

Jaune could hardly fail to notice that such was the behaviour of a deranged stalker – but he could live with the discomfiting similarities, so long as it served the all-important cause of infiltrating Salem's inner circle.

Pocketing the stolen VBI employee identity card and picking up his briefcase, Jaune left its still-struggling owner bound and gagged within her bedroom, and headed back out of the apartment.

With the card secured, Jaune was no longer in much of a rush. At a sedate pace, he left the condominium grounds, and made his way towards the commercial district and the central business district at its heart.

Over the long walk and extended train journey there, Jaune had the opportunity to turn his campaign-winning plan over in his mind, and examine its flaws from every conceivable angle.

And there were a lot of flaws there, Jaune could not deny. That was inevitable, for a plan so ambitious that it had, as its first step, the successful infiltration of Vale's domestic intelligence agency – and which required, in follow-up, some high-wire persuasion and stage-managed terrorism.

It was still early – barely seven – when Jaune arrived at the central business district, and it would be another two hours until office hours started, and until the denizens of the white-collar world started pouring into their offices and skyscrapers.

Jaune found a cafe across the street from VBI headquarters, allowing him to surreptitiously watch the entrance of the building even as he got some breakfast down.

The stakeout was boring – excruciatingly so – but one hearty breakfast and two hours later, the expected wave of employees finally came, as smartly-dressed men and women began filling the pavements and spilling into their office buildings, VBI headquarters included.

As nine o'clock came and went, and after the flood of office workers finally ebbed, Jaune made his move.

Jerking out of his seat as if he were surprised by the time, Jaune plastered a grimace across his face, and snatched up his briefcase. He then began walking forward at a fast pace – like a man in a rush; like someone late for work, and who was not looking forward to the inevitable telling-off.

He crossed the street, and walked through the entrance of VBI headquarters, into the spacious lobby that dominated the first floor of the building.

Security was tight, as was to be expected of a building that housed an intelligence agency. People heading in had to walk through a full-body metal detector, even as their bags and items were put onto a conveyor belt that fed into a bag-scanning x-ray machine. Beyond this security area was the waist-high automated turnstiles that controlled entry into the building proper; and beyond even them was the lift lobby, and the numerous elevators that employees could take to get up to their offices.

Jaune spared a nod for the pair of security guards manning the metal detector and x-ray machine, even as he placed his briefcase onto the conveyor belt of the x-ray machine. He also extracted his wallet and scroll from his pockets, and put them into a small plastic basket that joined his briefcase in its journey into the belly of the x-ray machine.

That done, Jaune then smartly stepped through the metal detector.

The machine remained silent, as expected; Jaune was indeed carrying nothing that could set it off. For the task he had to accomplish today, he needed no weapon but his wits, and no tool but his silver-tongue, and he meant to see things through without having to resort to violence.

Collecting his items after they were disgorged without incident from the x-ray machine, Jaune then headed towards the automated turnstiles.

Withdrawing his stolen VBI employee identity card, Jaune tapped it on the turnstile's electronic scanner.

A beep sounded, and the turnstile retracted its barriers – allowing Jaune to walk through.

_Step one, done._

Jaune hadn't quite believed Junior, when he had consulted the gang leader on how he could infiltrate VBI headquarters – and when the big man had assured him it was as easy as stealing a little plastic card. Of course, Jaune did believe Junior now, even as he could not help but think that breaking into the headquarters of Vale's domestic intelligence agency _ought_ to have been harder.

An empty elevator was awaiting Jaune at the lift lobby; getting on, he selected the sixteenth floor.

His target was a Frederick Felt – a VBI intelligence officer working on counter-terrorism; specifically, the human supremacist variety. Junior's information brokerage had been invaluable, in identifying the target – but for what was to come, Jaune was on his own.

Once the elevator reached the sixteenth floor, Jaune made his exit.

The lift lobby he walked out into was surrounded on all sides by clear glass walls, with a single set of access-controlled glass double doors being the sole way out to the rest of the floor.

A reception counter – manned by a young lady not that much older than Jaune – lay beyond the doors.

Jaune pressed the bell on the intercom, to draw the woman's attention, and when she looked up, he raised a hand in friendly greeting.

She buzzed him in without fanfare, allowing Jaune to push open the door and enter.

"Hi. I'm John from the IT department, here to resolve some tech issues. I'm looking for Agent Frederick Felt – may I know where he sits?"

"Down this hallway – all the way – and then turn right into the office at the end."

"Thank you."

Jaune gave an appreciative nod, before following the woman's direction to his destination.

His carpeted floor was soft beneath his feet, as Jaune set an unhurried pace while making his way to the office at the end of the corridor.

When he arrived at his target's office, Jaune saw that it was – like all the other offices he had passed – fronted by an translucent, access-controlled glass door.

Seeing as how politely requesting his way in had worked so far, Jaune had no reason to try anything different; pressing the intercom bell by the door, Jaune waited for someone to come to him.

He did not have to wait long. After less than a quarter of a minute, the door opened, to reveal a VBI agent with a dishevelled appearance and dark circles around his eyes.

"Yes? May I help you?"

The man was curt, and seemed in a hurry to get back to his own work, and so Jaune obliged, by getting to the point.

"I'm John from the IT department, looking for Agent Frederick Felt –"

He did not have the chance to finish, before the tired-looking VBI agent was beckoning him in without fanfare.

The office area they walked into was large, and housed rows upon rows of cubicles at which men and women worked – the very platonic ideal, of the modern office environment.

"Follow me."

The nameless VBI agent led Jaune through the maze of cubicles, until they arrived at a particular desk, where a blond-haired man in his late-twenties was rubbing his chin and looking at his computer screen, deep in thought.

"Fred. A techie's here for you."

The man – Frederick Felt – glanced up.

"Hmm? Oh, thanks a lot, Jack!"

The blond man gave a sunny smile to his colleague, who nodded in reply.

"No problem."

The VBI agent that had brought Jaune here left without another word, leaving Jaune alone with his target.

Still smiling, Fred Felt stood, and offered his hand to Jaune, who took it for a brief handshake.

"So, what's up?"

Felt appeared to have an easy-going personality, which Jaune was glad for; someone more prickly could well be less cooperative, and make the whole mission harder.

Regardless, Jaune wasted no time, in beginning to weave his web of lies.

"Agent Felt, I'm John, from the cyber-security team in IT department. I have bad news, I'm afraid – your computer, and all your accounts on the various governmental databases, have been hacked, and the information on them compromised."

The blond man blanched

"What? But how? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Agent Felt. Our systems detected that your computer and your accounts were being accessed remotely this morning, and while the intrusion was soon stopped, this was not before some data was transferred out."

The man's face paled, even further.

"That's... not good.

Jaune shook his head, gravely.

"No, it's not. But we can fix it. The first step is to secure your computer and your accounts against further breaches – and that means changing all your passwords and then letting me run a few malware removal programmes. Meanwhile, my team is tracking the provenance of the hack, and will do our best to find the people responsible – though you must understand that there is no guarantee that we can recover the stolen data before it can be further transmitted."

From his briefcase, Jaune withdrew an official-looking form, and placed it on the table by Felt.

"I know paperwork is boring, but I need you to sign here, here and here –"

Jaune pointed out the empty signature lines on the form.

"– to acknowledge that you have been notified of the security breach; to consent to undertake emergency remedial action recommended by the relevant infocomm technology professional, which in this case is myself; and finally, to acknowledge that you have be advised that there is no guarantee that any stolen data will be successfully retrieved before further transmission"

The form was, in truth, but a fake document that Junior had helped rustle up – though it looked real enough, from the VBI letterhead, to the font and formatting, to the document serial number at the bottom of the page.

From the Malachite twins' gossip, Jaune knew that Junior ran a side-business providing fake transcripts to rich but under-qualified kids, who wanted to get into huntsmen schools of their choice. And as Jaune watched a highly-educated elite VBI intelligence officer put his name and signature the fake form, Jaune could not deny that Junior was – for all his absent morals – admirably good at his job.

Once Felt was done signing, Jaune plucked the document off the table to put it back into his briefcase. Jaune didn't need the form per se, signed or otherwise, but providing it helped solidify the deception that he was a legitimate VBI employee in the IT department – thus helping to persuade the target to follow his instructions.

"Let's begin with changing passwords. I need you to systematically change all your passwords – not just for this computer itself, but for all your accounts on the various governmental databases you have access to, like the terrorist screening watchlist. I'll be using these new passwords to authorize the relevant diagnosis and malware removal programmes later, so you need to tell me what they are. Obviously, you'll need to change these password a second time after I'm done, and so for convenience's sake I suggest switching all your accounts to the same dummy password for now, and then changing to your actually desired passwords only after I'm done."

Felt nodded, but his indecision was clearly written across his face.

"Right... and what dummy password would you suggest?"

Jaune had one in mind, and said as much.

"How about... _Goodwitch fights Goliaths for glory_, no capitalization and no spaces? As a tip, your passwords should generally be like that – very long and hence hard to hack via brute force, where hackers submit multiple passwords until they get the right one; but also catchy and easy to remember. In contrast, shorter passwords that use a complicated mix of letters, numbers and symbols are pretty terrible – they're easy for hackers to brute force, but also difficult for humans to remember."

Jaune spoke confidently, and projected a real sense of expertise – even if in reality he knew nothing of cyber-security save for what he had learnt after reading through some articles online and watching some informative videos.

All the same – in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man was king, and the truth of that old adage was proven here, where Jaune's target was even less knowledgeable about computer security than he was.

"Sounds good."

Looking highly impressed with the basic piece of advice Jaune had just provided, the man proceeded to change the passwords on his computer to the improvised Goodwitch tongue-twister.

Things were progressing well, and once more Jaune felt it was almost all too easy – though that self-indulgent feeling dissipated when his mission actually hit first roadblock.

As Agent Felt navigated through his intranet browser to get to the next database he was to change password for, a security message popped up.

It would ordinarily have been unexceptional and anodyne, but right here, right now, it was virtual dynamite. Crucially, it warned –

_Never tell anyone your passwords! If a fellow VBI employee – even an employee of the IT department – requests any of your passwords, they might be a spy or a hacker! Report them immediately to us at the IT department, via the following email and number._

Agent Felt turned around, a look of perplexed apprehension levelled at Jaune.

"So we aren't allowed to give out our passwords, even to techies? Then – and I'm sorry to be blunt – but should you be asking me for them? I know you're trying to fix my computer's security problems, but c'mon man, I hope we aren't cutting corners or anything – that could get both of us into more trouble."

Even before Agent Felt was done speaking, Jaune was already nodding along, to acknowledge the concern.

"A fair question."

Jaune didn't think Felt was starting to suspect him as a hacker or a spy – but there was a risk of the agent deciding not to follow his instructions, or even to demand some written authorization from a higher-up.

This was a complication Jaune was keen to avoid, and so, without missing a step, he replied,

"IT department policy isn't rigid – what's permissible depends on the situation. Ordinarily, you should never give your password away – since that raises the risk that you'll get hacked. But once you've been hacked, the priority is to re-secure your computer and your accounts – and that requires the IT department to have your passwords. Obviously, in such a scenario, you won't be punished for being cooperative."

Jaune finished giving the reasonable-sounding explanation, and as he did so, he was gratified to see that Agent Felt was already looking less apprehensive.

"So. Shall we continue?"

Jaune gestured at the laptop, and Agent Felt nodded in acquiescence.

"Sure, sure. Just wanted to check that we weren't violating organization rules or anything. My boss is a stickler for rules, and has been on my case recently for not doing things by the book – and I don't want to make it too easy for her to fire me, eh?"

If that was a joke, it was a rather unfunny one – but Jaune laughed politely all the same. Agent Felt, meanwhile, turned back to his laptop, and dismissed the security warning. He then proceeded to open the password-changing page for the latest database –

– except a redirection was somehow triggered, bringing them to a page that was not the intended destination.

The intranet page featured a cyber-security quiz, of all things; as far as Jaune could surmise, the system was forcing all users to complete the quiz before they could change their password.

Agent Felt evinced no surprise at the appearance of the quiz; clearly he had come across its like before.

Without complaint or delay, the man began doing the quiz; he answered question after question, until he came the very last one on the page.

That one, however, seemed to baffle him – so much so that he turned to Jaune for advice.

"This question is asking about the Vacuon prince scam... and why it's effective at scamming people out of their money. But it's not, right? Who falls for such obvious fraud?"

His curiosity somewhat piqued, and needing to answer Agent Felt's query, Jaune leaned in, to better read the quiz material in question.

And once he did so, he could not help but comment, wryly,

"Ah. But many people _do_ get fooled – because it _is_ effective."

It was the classic internet scam – a Vacuon prince promising the victim a significant share of a large sum of money, if only the victim would advance him some money, with which he could access his secret bank accounts containing his massive inheritance.

Seeing Felt's surprise over his assessment, Jaune continued elaborating.

"The whole Vacuon prince story is ludicrous, of course, and these emails tend to be written in terrible English to boot – but that's exactly the point. The hacker doesn't want to be too convincing – that only reels in a lot of decently discerning people who will eventually wise up and reject the scam offer, even after the hacker spends significant time and effort trying to convince them. Hence, it's more profitable for the hacker to set up such a patently obvious scam – so only the most gullible end up replying to the email, which creates a high success rate for the hacker's subsequent attempt to persuade the victim to part with their money."

Once more, Jaune knew nothing about the topic of cyber-security, save for what he had picked up from briefly surfing the web. As before, however, his victim knew even less than he did – making it easy enough for Jaune to seem knowledgeable, despite being little more than a layperson himself.

Agent Felt, meanwhile, was nodding grimly, in what seemed like almost begrudging admiration for the low cunning of hackers.

Now knowing the secret behind the scam, Felt could answer the quiz's last question correctly; and he did so, choosing the right answer of '_The Vacuon prince scam is effective because it's unbelievable._'

Only once that was done was the quiz complete – allowing the password-changing webpage for that database to finally load.

With a few taps of his keyboard, Agent Felt changed the password for this account – and after that, there was but one password left to alter, albeit for the most important database yet.

Felt opened the homepage for the terrorist screening watchlist, and Jaune watched, with quiet satisfaction, as the agent opened the relevant password-changing page –

– only for him to hesitate, his fingers stopping abruptly but a few strokes into the process of typing in his old password as well as inputting the new.

"Actually..."

Jaune was not liking the fresh doubt he could sense in Agent Felt's words; and feeling some resignation at the appearance of yet another problem, he prompted the man to continue.

"Yes?"

The agent did not speak for a while; instead, he was frowning at nothing in particular, and absorbed in thought.

When he finally turned and look up at Jaune from his chair, his eyes were creased by doubt; furrowed, by apprehension.

"Well, I mean... now that I think of it, this all feels very strange. The last time I was having computer trouble, I called up tech support and the guy they sent over used his administrator password to access some backend programmes and then did some changes to fix the problem. So why don't you do the same?"

Felt was frowning sombrely, and Jaune could feel his trepidation rising.

The man was starting to get suspicious, and any failure to adequately answer the question would only intensify those suspicions – and risk the man rejecting Jaune's whole web of lies, and refusing to provide cooperation any longer.

Fearing the collapse of the mission, and seeing no other good options, Jaune was forced to reach for a truly audacious lie.

"The reason, Agent Felt, that I'm not using an administrator password to simply access your computer and your various accounts, is that we've recently changed our IT security policy. Low-level tech officers like myself are no longer provided administrator passwords, or given extensive powers over the whole system. Recent research has shown that when it comes to cyber-security, an organization's tech support people in any organization are some of the biggest weaknesses. Have you heard of _social hacking_?"

Agent Felt shook his head. The man clearly knew nothing of the concept – but then again, the exact same had been true of Jaune up till yesterday, when Watts had suggested it as a possible method he could use to infiltrate VBI headquarters.

"Social hacking is using psychological manipulation to get people to divulge confidential information – in short, attacking the people, rather than the computers.

"You probably already know about phishing. Hackers like to send emails that look like they're from a legitimate organization, to get you to divulge sensitive information – maybe they pretend they're your bank, asking you to 'update' your expired online banking password.

"Or, a hacker can scrap the web and your social media for basic information like your birthday, and other kinds of innocuous-seeming information like what businesses you've been recently ordering things from. Then they can go further, maybe calling the bookstore you ordered a book from last month, and scamming them into providing more confidential information – a hacker could pose as you, pretend to be ordering another book, and ask the bookstore to repeat back to him your address or email or scroll number, just to 'confirm' they're correct. Then, with such confidential information in hand, they can fool other businesses into thinking they're you, and do a lot of mischief.

Agent Felt held up a hand, and interrupted Jaune.

"Look, man, that's all very interesting – and terrifying – but I don't see the point."

"I'm getting to that. It's not just ordinary people or customer support officers that get scammed in this way by hackers – IT folks get fooled, too. A hacker could pretend to be an employee and call tech support, and tell them that they're having trouble accessing this legitimate-sounding website. The tech support employee might then try to go to the website, to see if it's a problem with the website or a problem with the employee's computer – except to get into the website, you have to click a link that actually gives the hacker full control of the IT person's computer, and hence the whole system."

Jaune gestured strongly with his hand.

"So now do you see? Why the VBI is limiting what passwords and powers tech officers like myself have access to? How this helps to prevent hackers from getting too much access to the VBI computer system, in case any single tech officer foolishly gets compromised by social hacking?"

As he finished delivering his lengthy explanation, Jaune watched Agent Felt's face carefully.

It was audacity bordering on insolence, for Jaune to try assuage the man's suspicions via explaining _the very method he was using_ to steal secret information from the VBI – for of course social hacking was what he was doing, right now. He was manipulating Agent Felt into handing over access to his computer and various governmental databases that Jaune could otherwise never hope to compromise.

Such a brazen approach would not have been Jaune's preferred option, but he couldn't think of similarly plausible explanations for why he was not – as could reasonably be expected – using his administrator passwords to navigate his target's computer and fix the relevant problems.

And if his target still harboured suspicions – well, Jaune had a final card to play.

Agent Felt, in any case, looked conflicted – torn, between being impressed by the explanation on the one hand, and his still yet extant doubt on the other.

It was the latter that won out, in the end, when the man's eyes widened perceptibly, and he exclaimed,

"Actually, how do I know you're not a hacker yourself? Trying to do all that social hacking on me, to give up my passwords?"

Jaune laughed.

He let his mirth pour out, even as he shook his head – as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard; as if what had just been said was the most moronic idea possible.

Agent Felt clearly didn't appreciate being laughed at, with annoyance flashing across the man's face – so Jaune allowed himself a final chuckle, before launching into the final part of his performance.

"Yes. Yes, Agent Felt, you got me. I'm not a VBI employee that works here."

Jaune took out from his pocket the VBI employee identity card, and flashed it in front of Felt's face.

"Instead, I'm a hacker that chose to walk into VBI headquarters, for some reason, and risk arrest for no discernable gain. I'll also made the target sign a form –"

Jaune retrieved the fake document from his briefcase, and waved it about in the air.

"– because hackers are of course famously scrupulous about paperwork. Oh yes, and for good measure, I'll generously explain my evil plan of social hacking to my target, so he's on guard."

Jaune sighed.

"Or, and I know this sounds crazy, Agent Felt – but maybe I really am a VBI tech officer here to help you after your computer got hacked."

Pausing for a bit, Jaune let the suggestion sink in – before resuming his assault.

"But you can believe whatever you want, Agent Felt."

Putting the fake document back into his briefcase, Jaune took a step back, and made as if he was about to leave.

"It's no skin off my teeth. I did my job, and informed you of the security breach – as you so kindly acknowledged when you signed the form. If you don't want to follow my instructions – well, that's on you. You can go and explain to your boss and to the director of the VBI himself on why you refused to perform the emergency remedial action needed to fix the breach. And if the hackers aren't just random anti-government activists breaking in for fun and games, but actual terrorists who want to know which cells are being watched, so they can better plan attacks without interference – well, the blood is on _your_ hands, sir."

Jaune turned, to leave, and –

"Hey, wait! Come on, man."

He had to make a real effort not to smile smugly, as Agent Felt called out to him.

Jaune turned back, to glance coolly at the man.

Felt looked apologetic – indeed, embarrassed – as he used a coaxing tone to say,

"Chill out. I was just asking – didn't meant to offend you. I appreciate that you're here to help me."

The mockery had worked; for indeed, the truth – that Jaune was a would-be hacker trying to steal information from the VBI in broad daylight – just sounded absurd when spoken aloud and vocalized.

Between having that absurdity thrown in one's face, and the guilt tripping over perhaps letting the terrorists get away – Frederick Felt was, in effect, being emotionally coerced into abandoning his suspicions.

Jaune had to admit; he was _good_ at this – good at weaving half-truths and half-lies, and at manipulating others into acting the way he so desired.

_That was how I deceived Watts into believing that I was betraying Beacon... and how I fooled Adam, into trusting that I had abandoned humanity for the faunus._

Perhaps if he had been a better person, he would have felt discomfort at being so consummate a liar –

– but lying was the least of his crimes.

Agent Felt was still awaiting his reply; more than happy to play the bigger man, Jaune extended an olive branch himself. Taking a deep breath, Jaune then said,

"Alright. Sorry I blew up a bit. It's been a stressful morning for me. Let's just finish this up, shall we?"

Felt nodded eagerly.

The man sat, and quickly changed the password for the final database.

And _that_ was the signal for Jaune to bring this phase of the plan to a close.

Jaune activated his aura. A quick scan of the surrounding area with his aura sense – along with a glance at the empty managerial offices at the end of the row – confirmed his target.

Then, concentrating, he drew upon his semblance, and –

_! ! !_

A great burst of fire blew out manager's office, fire ripping through wood and walls and glass and doors, to send debris spiralling out into the open air, even as a wave of heat billowed out through the wider office.

A second later, the fire alarm started wailing, and the sprinkler system started raining water down.

Soon after, cries of fear and shock went up all around the office, and the panicking began.

"What the hell happened?"

"Jenny? Alex? Were they in there?"

"No, the assistant directors were out for a meeting, but what –"

"Is anyone hurt?"

"We need to –"

"ENOUGH!"

Jaune's roar tore through the clamour, and at once everyone had quietened down, and turned around, to look at him.

A huntsman needed a powerful voice, or so Professor Port always said. It was an insight the veteran huntsman would oft circle back to, in between his inane bouts of boasting. Jaune could see the sense in the advice – for it was otherwise impossible to take command of panicking civilians during a Grimm attack, and to organize their evacuation.

It was the same here; only with the uproar quelled, could Jaune speak – which he did so, now at a more normal volume.

"Listen to me. That was probably a bomb, and who knows if there are more of them in the building. We have to evacuate, quickly but calmly. Leave your things –"

Jaune shut Agent Felt's laptop, and then threw his briefcase on top of it – to emphasize the point, of course, but also to protect the sensitive electronics from the spurts of water even now raining down from the ceiling-mounted sprinklers.

"– and don't bring anything; carrying items only delays the evacuation."

Uncertain silence met Jaune's pronouncements, and no one moved to leave.

Jaune could only shake his head in disgust.

"Are you all going to stand around and wait to die? MOVE!"

His roar was accompanied by a more physical kind of encouragement, as he grabbed Agent Felt by the arm and shoved the man violently towards the exit.

That broke through the inertia of the crowd, and all at once everyone started fleeing towards the door.

Jaune did not follow, instead ducking into a cubicle where he could not be seen; there, he waited silently, as the crowd poured out.

And it did so, with admirable swiftness. In less than a minute, Jaune found himself alone in the office.

Time was of the essence, and so Jaune moved quickly and efficiently.

Reopening Agent Felt's laptop, and accessing it using the Goodwitch tongue-twister that was the new password, Jaune then used a cable to link the laptop to the external data drive that he had been carrying within his briefcase

He proceeded to access Felt's files as well as the various governmental databases, and to download all the information within them into his data drive – a process greatly aided by a scripting program he ran from the drive itself. Junior had gotten one of his associates with coding to create the script for him – it helped automate the execution of various repetitive tasks Jaune would otherwise have to manually carry out, thereby saving him a significant amount of time.

Still, the process was not quick, and as Jaune waited for the data transfer to complete, he browsed the terrorist screening watchlist. He looked out for human supremacists – for people who could potentially be interested in attacking a Faunus Justice Party rally...

... or, at any rate, who could be suborned into doing so.

There was a lot of information to go through, and for now Jaune did only a relative cursory scanning; he would have the chance to take a slower and more detailed look later, once he was out of this building.

One person on the watchlist stood out, however. This person that the VBI was keeping an eye on, for suspected human supremacist ties, was a certain Ellen Nevrand – the rapier-wielding huntress whose team Jaune had attacked during the airbase raid, and who had confronted him angrily in the basement of Junior's bar a two weeks ago.

Jaune noted her as a top contender, and continued looking through the files.

Long before he had gotten to the end, however, the data transfer process completed itself, which was just as well, because –

Jaune could sense four aura signatures – four huntsmen – in rapid ascent up the building's main stairwell.

They were almost certainly from the fire department – which, like the military and the police, kept huntsmen under contract. Aura-capable individuals were an invaluable asset when it came to firefighting, for a sufficiently skilled huntsman could scan a building with their aura sense, and locate the people still trapped inside – and of course, even a mediocre dust mage could put out massive fires through the liberal use of ice dust.

Keenly aware that the huntsmen were almost here, and that he was out of time, Jaune quickly disconnected his external data drive, and stuffed it down the front of his briefs – a disgusting act, but also a necessary one, for he could not carry a briefcase, or be seen to be carrying one, come the next part of the plan.

With a wave of his hand, and an application of his pyrokinesis, Jaune immolated Agent Felt's laptop and his own briefcase – just in case he had left behind any fingerprints on them that could be used to identify him.

The initial fire in the manager's office had long been put out by the sprinklers, but now Jaune drew heavily upon his semblance once more, to set the wider office afire. And, for good measure, he also sent fire screaming through the rest of the floor – as well as through the already evacuated floors above and below.

Black smoke – so heavy it made seeing almost impossible – started billowing out everywhere and nowhere. And though his semblance protected him from the scorching heat, it was no defence against choking to death on smoke. Jaune hence moved – swiftly and adroitly – taking off his shirt and wetting it by breaking the water dispenser at the corner of the office.

That done, he wrapped the wet cloth around his face, and picked up the fire extinguisher located right next to the water dispenser itself.

It was time for him to do some firefighting – or at least pretend to.

As he retreated towards the centre of the building, where both the lift lobby and the primary stairwell was located, Jaune shot some half-hearted bursts of fire-suppression foam at the burning offices all around.

He timed the speed of his retreat perfectly, and arrived at the floor's lobby area just as the huntsman team arrived.

Jaune must have made quite the sight – a topless, masked man wielding a fire extinguisher, and attempting to put out a raging fire clearly far beyond the capacity of one man with one extinguisher to put out.

"What the hell are you doing? Get out!"

Upon seeing Jaune, the tall huntsman leading his team shouted at Jaune, and in response, Jaune called back,

"I'm ex-huntsman! Was trying to put out the fire, save some computers with important counter-terrorism information on them – but then new fires in new places keep springing up! Like a dust mage is attacking us!"

The huntsmen were shocked – their emotions plainly visible to Jaune's own keen aura sense – and that shock led them to trade glances, and words.

"Those fires on the fifteenth and seventeenth floors that only just sprung up –"

"Could definitely be a dust mage."

"Shit."

Meanwhile, in a credit to his professionalism, the leader of the huntsman team did not allow the distressing new information to distract him from his first priority – getting innocent civilians out. To Jaune, he snapped,

"Get out of here. Ex-huntsmen or not, this place isn't safe for someone without proper protective equipment."

Jaune did not have to be told twice. Leaving the professionals to their job, Jaune sprinted for the stairwell.

He raced down the stairs, and descended the building at a rapid pace.

In no time at all, he was on the ground floor – and not even particularly out of breath.

Finally able to remove his shirt-turned-mask from his face, Jaune used it to wipe down the handles of the fire extinguisher – again to avoid leaving behind any incriminating fingerprints. Then, he shrugged his wet shirt back on, and walked out into the lobby of VBI headquarters.

There was quite a crowd, and Jaune had to push through to get out of the building itself.

As he strode out back upon the open streets of Vale, Jaune allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk – it was a plan well-made, and well-executed, and he took pride in carrying out a mission in which no one had to be hurt.

Of course, there was a building burning down behind him – but all things considered, this was some fine work he had done this morning.

Now all he had to do was perform equally flawlessly for the rest of the day; there was no margin for error, and certainly no do-overs.

After all, this was an assassination that he was planning – and all the world would be watching.

-(=RWBY=)-


	21. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow XI

Jaune put some distance between himself and the burning building that was VBI headquarters, before making his way home.

After a short train journey, and a brisk walk through his rough neighbourhood, Jaune arrived back in his shabby apartment, where he could finally discard his disguise. The hair dye he had to wash out with a bath, but the rest of his get-up he could get rid of without much hassle. He was particularly glad to be able to peel off the eye tapes and the fake beard, the former of which was uncomfortable and the latter of which desperately irritated his skin.

The rest of the morning was then spent reviewing the information stolen from the Vale Bureau of Investigation – so as to identify the human supremacist most likely to assent to an assassination attempt.

It was painstaking work, but in the end, Jaune settled on the person he thought most likely to say '_yes_' to his entreaties.

Jaune would have to pay a visit to her soon; but first, he had some other meetings to attend to.

He was already running late by the time he grabbed Crocea Mors and left his apartment, to catch the train to the north-eastern part of the industrial district, not far from where Junior's club was located.

His destination was a commercial huntsman gym, and as he neared it –

He saw them before they saw him, on account of him dressing plainly, and them being in their usual colourful huntsman outfits.

From the blood-red cloak to the hair golden as his own, and from the forest green shirt to the loud pink skirt, there was absolutely no mistaking them.

Team RVLY stood outside the gym, chatting as they waited.

Ren was the first to spot him; he had always been the most observant amongst their group of friends.

Jaune could see the pink-haired boy speak quietly, apprising his teammates of Jaune's arrival; and as one, they all turned towards him.

The next moment, he was surrounded, Ruby and Nora all but pouncing on him and burying him in a cacophony of questions.

"Jaune!"

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, Mister!"

And on and on it went.

Yang was not quite as worked up as her sister and as Nora, but her eyes were bright with interest as she greeted him.

"Heya. Long time no see, huh?"

Ren himself was far more reserved, as he was wont to be.

"Jaune. It is good to see you again."

Jaune hadn't seen Team RVLY since Pyrrha's funeral, and there he had slipped off before they could speak much – but here, and now, there would be no avoiding some hard questions.

"Hey, everyone. Thanks for meeting at such short notice – and during winter break, too."

The two week break between the fall and spring semesters was coming to an end, but was still not quite over yet. From what Jaune had picked up from Ruby – after he had contacted her via scroll, asking for her help – her whole team had been staying over at her place on Patch. Upon receiving Jaune's request, they had to fly back to Beacon, to access the school's weapons forge and perform the requisite task – before flying into Vale proper, and meeting up with him.

It was enormously obliging of Ruby and her team to do all that, just for him – especially after his shabby treatment of them, in ignoring all their calls and messages asking after him.

Jaune felt more than a twinge of guilt, for ghosting them, and he resolved to give them the answers they deserved – as much as possible, and as far as his mission's secrecy permitted.

"It's no big deal, Jaune! How have you been?"

Ruby seemed energetic as ever; but it was clear that her cheer was forced, while her question was asked with not inconsiderable anxiety.

On his own part, Jaune found himself unsure of how to answer the question. He thought back on the last month or so, though it felt like so much more time had passed.

Many things had happened, from midnight raids to endless political intrigue, but certain things amongst others stuck out in his mind – the dark day that was Pyrrha's funeral, and the wistful happiness he had experienced, when he got to catch up with Weiss or even to hang out Blake.

In the end, he told Ruby,

"Well, there are good days and bad. Friends make the difference, I suppose. And I'm –"

He hesitated, before following through.

"– I'm sorry for ignoring all your calls and messages this past month. I just needed some time to think things through, and sort things out."

Jaune left things deliberately vague – he couldn't tell them the truth, though neither did he wish to lie to their face.

Ruby, in any case, accepted his answer; and with painful earnestness, she said,

"I understand, Jaune. We're here for you, if you need to talk."

A chorus of agreement sounded from the rest of Team RVLY, and for all that life had hardened his heart, the sincere expression of support from his friends moved him.

Dipping his head, Jaune said,

"Thank you. This means a lot to me."

It really did. Everything – from the death of his partner to the weight of the world on his shoulders – left him in a state of permanent stress, but knowing he wasn't alone in this went some way in making the burden easier to bear.

"Jaune..."

Ren spoke, quietly but unwaveringly.

"... I apologize for being blunt, but may we ask what occurred in Rothenburg?"

Ruby winced, while the rest of her team seemed tense – as if Jaune was going to blow up just from the question being asked.

He did no such thing, of course, instead nodding, and saying,

"No worries, I don't mind sharing what happened."

Weiss had always been standoffish, and Blake even more so; but Pyrrha had – like him – been decently close to Team RVLY, and they certainly deserved to know how she died, and why.

"As you know, Team JWBN was in Rothenburg for our end of semester mission, and things were going well at first – we did our job clearing out Grimm in the surrounding areas, while also having the chance to sightsee and relax at the inn we were staying in.

"Things went wrong when the Grimm attacked, and even though my team held off the waves of Grimm assaulting the front gates, a Necrovalock's puppets began slaughtering villagers behind our backs. I had to go hunt down the monster..."

Jaune closed his right hand into a fist.

"... except it was all a trap. This Grimm cultist Hazel Rainart, who had engineered the attack in the first place, took advantage of my absence to kill Pyrrha and near-fatally wound Blake."

There were grimaces of distress all around, when he mentioned Pyrrha's death; Ruby in particular was especially affected, if the slumping of her shoulders and the way she looked down upon the ground was any indication.

"Rainart... his strength was like nothing human, and I almost died half a dozen times while fighting him – but in the end, I ran my sword through his heart, and that was that."

And now for the final part of his story, and the one his friends were almost certainly most desperate to understand –

"As for why Ozpin blames me... I'm a convenient scapegoat, that's all; otherwise people will start holding _him_ responsible for letting Grimm cultists run amok and almost engineer a Collapse – one that would have killed thousands of people and dragged the region into chaos."

As he finished giving his account of things, Team RVLY seemed to struggle for the right words to say.

In the end, it was Ren who managed to give their outrage and sympathy some shape, when he said,

"We are sorry for your loss, Jaune. And we are, all of us, furious at how you are being treated –"

"It's not fair!"

Ruby burst out in indignation, her shout so loud it drew glances from right across the street.

"How could Headmaster Ozpin –"

"Ruby."

Jaune interrupted her, before her anger built up even further.

"I'm grateful that you're angry on my behalf, but it is what it is. There's that old saying, right? You should have the courage to change the things you can; the serenity to accept the things you can't; and the wisdom to tell the difference."

Yang had put a hand on her sister's shoulders to try and calm her, while Ren looked thoughtful.

"Those are wise words to live by, certainly."

Nora, meanwhile, was looking less impressed.

"Lame! All problems can be solved by smashing them with a hammer."

"Nora..."

Ren shook his head in exasperation, but Jaune only laughed – as did Yang, and even Ruby.

Nora was never as obtuse as she let herself seem, and Jaune was certain that the orange-haired girl was just trying to lighten the mood – and for that he was grateful.

Preferring to guide the conversation away from the inevitable sombreness that was the Rothenburg, he said,

"But enough about me. How are all of you?"

It was Yang who answered for the team, when she said,

"Not bad. Ren and Nora spent the break with Dad, Ruby and me on Patch. Zwei loves the extra company, that's for sure."

"Zwei?"

Nora jumped in at this point.

"The cutest dog ever! We should totally get one ourselves, right, Rennie? Oooh, or how about a sloth instead?"

"I don't think Beacon allows pets, Nora..."

Jaune and the sisters watched the interplay between the two childhood friends with some amusement, but soon enough Jaune had to remind himself that he was on a tight timetable. No matter how much he enjoyed relieving his more innocent schooldays and hanging out with friends, he could not afford to while away the afternoon in such a fashion.

With reluctance, he brought the conversation to business.

"Anyway, as you will all know by now, Blake is a faunus –"

That fact getting out was inevitable, given the media scrutiny of his team after Rothenburg.

"– and she's quite committed to the cause of faunus rights. She has decided to take a leave of absence from Beacon for now, to pursue a political career instead, and to fight for faunus rights that way."

Ruby, ever the optimist, chimed in.

"That's great! Dad always says that being a huntsman isn't the only way of helping people."

Yang was less sanguine.

"Uncle Qrow always said the politicians are all liars, though..."

_Uncle Qrow._

Jaune had to pause for a few seconds to process what Yang had said; and once he did so, he could not help but ask –

"Yang. Are you saying your uncle is Qrow Branwen, one of the Champions of Vale?"

Yang shrugged.

"Yeah. He's cool guy – helped dad raise us, even if he was drunk half the time."

Jaune could personally attest to Branwen's unhealthy relationship with drink, but the man's alcoholism was not what he was concerned with at present.

Qrow Branwen had exactly one sibling – one sister, who happened also to be the most infamous woman in the world.

Jaune could not believe how he had missed it, but it all seemed so _obvious_ now.

His eyes traced Yang Xiaolong's face – from the shape of her eyes, to the lines of her jaw, to the wild untameable mess that was her hair.

She was the spitting image of Raven Branwen – swap out the lilac for the crimson, and the gold for the black, and the woman before him would have looked exactly like the bandit-queen.

"Your mother..."

As those words escaped his mouth, Yang smiled – dangerously – and that, if anything, only made the resemblance stronger.

"You have a problem with that, buster?"

Jaune shook his head.

Fascinating though the topic was, he had clearly hit a nerve; and – as he reminded himself once more – he was short for time here.

To Yang, he said,

"For better or for worse, we're not our parents."

Yang gave a sharp nod.

"You're damn well right we're not."

With that olive branch extended – and accepted – Jaune forced himself to not get distracted, and instead he continued trying to explain the situation with Blake.

"Right, right... as I was saying. Blake is currently running a political campaign to try and get elected to the Valean Assembly. Election day itself is tomorrow, and Blake's holding one last camapign rally tonight. There's just one problem – we have it on good authority that there might be trouble. Could be human supremacists looking to gun down Ghira Belladonna's daughter; or could be the White Fang trying to get rid of fellow faunus who are too peaceful for their taste. It doesn't matter; the point is that Blake needs protecting, and –"

"You can count on us, Jaune!"

"Yeah! We'll break their legs!"

"If there's any fighting, you can count us in."

"We'll be glad to help."

The chorus of support from Team RVLY was heartening, but Jaune had to caution them –

"I'm really grateful, and I'm sure Blake is too – but these terrorists are dangerous. We're talking professional-level huntsman, or people even stronger; people like Adam Taurus. If there's need for direct combat, the professional huntsman guarding the event will step in – or I myself will intervene. You guys will be nowhere near any fighting, that's for sure."

Yang and Nora looked ready to argue, but Jaune cut their objection off at the legs, when he said,

"After Rothenburg, I'm not about to take any chances with my friends' lives; I'm sure you all understand, and sympathize."

That well and truly shut Yang and Nora up, and Jaune didn't even feel bad at guilt-tripping them – anything that helped keep them safe was good by his books.

He had been leery of involving them at all, but he hadn't much choice in the matter – he needed help, and there was no one else he could call upon.

"As I was explaining to Ruby over text yesterday, all I need you guys to do is be on a nearby roof, ready to provide sniper cover. Or, more precisely, I need Ruby providing sniper cover, while Ren shields with his semblance, and Yang and Nora stand guard."

The plan was very straightforward; and yet it elicited a searching frown from Ruby all the same.

"I don't mind providing sniper cover, Jaune... but tell me again, why isn't Crescent Rose good enough? Are you _sure_ that we need this?"

Crescent Rose in its storage mode was holstered at Ruby's belt; above it, slung across her back, was a steel sword, along with a strange weapon that defied description. It was that last weapon that Ruby retrieved, and which she held out in emphasis, even as her silver-eyes pinned Jaune's azure ones.

Jaune met her gaze, and said, levelly,

"Because I don't want there to be any chances – especially if things degenerate into a hostage situation. Come on, let's go into the gym, and you can show me how your new baby works."

Jaune led Team RVLY into the commercial huntsman gym, and after paying the small entrance fee required of non-members, the five of them headed up to the second floor, where the shooting range was.

It was a wide, open area, with the back of the range containing cardboard targets in the shape of Beowolves, all arrayed in front of a earthen embankment that served to stop bullets and arrows damaging the back wall.

No one else was using the range, so they had their pick of shooting booths. Ruby went with the one right in the middle, which meant that was where Team RVLY and himself ended up congregating.

Once at the booth, Ruby unslung the sword she had been carrying across her back, and handed it back to Jaune. It was his notched, plain-steel training sword, which he had mailed to Beacon for her use yesterday.

In return, Jaune withdrew Crocea Mors from his bag, and handed it to Ruby.

She received the blade with great trepidation, and handled it with almost excessive caution. This was only to be expected; the blade was Anra steel, and aura was nought before its edge.

Carefully, Ruby slid Crocea Mors into her strange new weapon – the one that Jaune had asked her to specifically design, for the sake of carrying out the very particular task he had in mind.

The weapon was like a missle launcher, except instead of being cylindrical, it was a rectangular cuboid, with its head and bottom being two squares, and with its sides being four long rectangles. The head was open, and the weapon was hollow – which, together with the slits that ran down its sides, allowed Ruby to slide Crocea Mors into it, hilt first.

The weapon glowed with violet light as Ruby powered it up. Simultaneously, Ruby began launching into an explanation of how her proud new invention worked.

"Gravity dust repulsors here –"

Ruby tapped the sword launcher's top rectangular side,

"– and here –"

She tapped the corresponding bottom side.

"– work to keep the sword floating in the middle."

And indeed, Jaune could see that Crocea Mors was levitating within the hollow confines of the launcher.

"And at the back –"

Ruby patted the butt of the weapon.

"– is the firing mechanism, a gravity dust propulsor that can shoot the weapon out at a hundred meters a second."

Jaune was sufficiently impressed – but all the same, he needed to see it work before he could trust anyone's life to its proper functioning.

"Show me."

Ruby nodded, eager despite herself.

Hefting the sword launcher, she took aim at the cardboard Grimm target at the end of the range –

– and fired.

_Fwoom!_

In the blink of an eye, Crocea Mors had crossed the span of the firing range, cutting through the cardboard Beowolf and sinking up to its hilt in the earthen embarkment.

"Again."

With a flourish of red petals and the quick use of her semblance, Ruby retrieved Crocea Mors, and then returned to repeat the demonstration.

Once more, Crocea Mors hit home.

"Again."

Ten times in all, Jaune made Ruby Rose fire his ancestral blade from the hypermodern sword-launching railgun she had designed; and ten times in all, the blade hit home, to lacerate the cardboard Beowolves that stood defiant at the end of the range.

In the end, Jaune could only say –

"I think that's enough. Brilliant work, Ruby."

The leader of team RVLY flushed, as she waved him off.

"C'mon, there's no need for flattery."

"It's not flattery."

_This_ was why Jaune had requested Ruby's help – why he had contacted her out of the blue yesterday, after a whole month of keeping his distance from his friends, and of trying to fool Watts into thinking he was irredeemably bitter at the world and everyone in it.

It was because the rewards were worth the risk; because beyond her prodigious skill with scythe and sniper rifle, Ruby was a genius at weapons engineering. To have designed and built a combat-ready version of such a novel weapon, and in under less than a day to boot – it was truly a remarkable feat, even if she had access to Beacon's world-class weapons forge.

This weapon was possibly going to be the difference between life and death tonight, and hence Jaune was unstinting in his praise.

"No, really, Ruby – this is truly brilliant. I'm no expert at mecha-shift weapons, but even I can tell this is top-tier work."

Ruby was blushing so hard her eyes were red to their roots, and Jaune decided that that was enough praise for the day – any more, and she seemed liable to explode.

As Ruby fended off a teasing headlock from her sister, who was grinning ear-to-ear at her sister's embarrassment, Jaune turned to Ren, for a more sombre matter.

"Ren, for tonight, you need to be ready to use your semblance – especially when Ruby is preparing to take the decisive shot. You understand why, don't you?"

Ren didn't quite grimace, but the slight twist of his face spoke volumes of his feelings; nor did his words leave any doubt, when he replied,

"I do. Not that I am pleased, but I see the necessity of it."

Jaune nodded. They were on the same page, then. Distaste was well and good, so long as it didn't get in the way of decisive action.

"I'm counting on you, then."

Jaune then checked the time; he had to be getting a move on, soon, if he wanted to speak with Corsac Albain and Blake before they met their huntsman security team for that evening.

He slid his training sword back into his bag. The blade was of the same weight and design as Crocea Mors itself, allowing Ruby to use it in place of his ancestral blade when building and testing the sword-launching railgun. Jaune could, of course, have sent her Crocea Mors itself, but he hadn't dared allow such a dangerous weapon to be ferried via post – the chances of it getting lost was too high and too live a possibility, for him to risk it. Even personally handing Crocea Mors over to Ruby – whom he trusted, unreservedly – left him apprehensive.

Jaune squashed the feeling, in favour of saying to Team RVLY,

"Well, it's been great catching up with all of you, but I have to run. I'll see you all again tonight, before Blake's campaign rally; the details of it I've sent to Ruby."

His four friends bade him goodbye – with an enthusiastic shaking of hands, in the case of Nora – and then he took off, to head back to the train station.

A short train ride to the south brought him to his next destination for that afternoon – the Belladonna campaign headquarters.

Located within the Vale 14th assembly district which Blake was hoping to win, the campaign headquarters was an old, run-down office building that the FJP had managed to rent on the cheap.

As he entered the place, Jaune could feel the despondency – from the gloomy faces and glum conversations, it was clear that their candidate's poor polling and the consequent prospect of imminent defeat had demoralized many of the campaign staffers.

Such doom and gloom was not unreasonable – but was also going to turn out misplaced, once Jaune was done with his machinations.

Pushing his way into Blake's personal office, Jaune greeted his old teammate as well as Corsac Albain.

"Blake. Corsac."

From behind her desk, Blake nodded back at him.

"Jaune."

Corsac, meanwhile, stood from his slumped position on a chair, and shook his hand.

"My friend, it is good to see you again."

Pleasantries over with, it was time to get to business, and Jaune asked,

"I assume we will be going ahead with the final campaign rally tonight."

Blake's eyes creased into a faint frown, even as Corsac rubbed his temples.

It didn't escape Jaune's attention, how his former teammate glanced over at Corsac, before she replied with,

"I've been reparing my speech –"

She gestured at a document on her desk, which she seemed to have been reading before Jaune arrived.

"– but I'm not sure if it's wise to go ahead with the rally, given the possibility of terrorists attacking."

The VBI's intelligence gathering network had picked up ominous talk within extremists circles – both human supremacist and White Fang – about assassinating Blake. And while there was no evidence that an attack was actively being planned, the possibility alone was alarming, and the campaign been warned to take appropriate security measures – and to even consider cancelling their final rally.

In response to his former teammate's concern, Jaune said, firmly,

"We should proceed. Rallies undeniably help increase candidates' favourability ratings, and whatever helps increase your chances of getting into office and doing good is surely the right thing to do – especially since we're ten points down in the polls, and need every boost we can get."

His words were not well received. Blake's amber eyes further narrowed, as she said, sharply,

"Even if we risk lives in the process?"

Jaune waved her off.

"There's little risk. We'll have lots of security – including the best of the best. Or have you not heard? Atlas's elite Ace Operatives will be deployed to protect us."

"The Ace-Ops..."

Blake looked wary, and doubt coloured her voice, when she asked,

"Are James Ironwood's best really deploying halfway across the world, just to protect us?"

Bluntly, Jaune replied,

"Yes. They're already in Vale, hunting Adam Taurus. Ever since that attack on the airbase, Vale and Atlas have been after his head, and with the possibility that the White Fang might want to attack our campaign..."

Blake grimaced at the mention of her former lover and partner, while Corsac shook his head, and murmured,

"Taurus..."

The man's disapproval of the infamous terrorist leader was plain, and so Jaune seized the opportunity to make his next point.

"Regardless, the rally has already been announced, and if we cancel now – with all the rumours of a possible attack swirling about – it will be obvious that we're backing down out of fear. That will only demonstrate to these extremists that violence works. They will be encouraged to use it even more, to shut down political views they oppose – and whatever else, we cannot allow that to happen."

Corsac had been looking down at the floor, but now, he raised his head. His voice quiet but resolute, he said,

"No, we cannot."

Blake, despite her clear misgivings, also said.

"Right. We can't be frightened by Adam and people like him..."

She trailed off, deep in thought.

Jaune took all this to signal that the were agreed on the proper course of action, and he said,

"That settles it then. The rally proceeds. Let's continue our preparations."

Jaune glanced down at the desk, and gave the copy of Blake's speech a brief scan. It appeared as if she was continuing to lean hard into the issue of discrimination and civil rights – as she had been doing, all throughout the campaign. Indeed, Blake seemed to be weaving in a critique of Vale's whole self-conception as a nation founded on liberty and the rejection of tyranny – all by pressing home the point that the country had never _not_ oppressed the faunus and denied them political equality.

Jaune himself had his doubts over such a rhetorical approach. Blake wasn't wrong on the merits, but as the FJP's own pollsters and data scientists were always warning, talking about racism was counterproductive. It only demoralized faunus voters, even as it turned off human voters, who didn't like to be reminded of their own prejudices. In contrast, talking up bread-and-butter economic issues was far more effective.

It was all too late to change tack, Jaune supposed, and it was hard to fault a person for standing up for what was right. Putting down the speech, he said,

"Well, you continue preparing for your rally speech. I'll handle the security side of things. Corsac, have the security cards arrived?"

"Oh yes. Let me show them to you."

Leaving Blake to work on her speech, Jaune followed Corsac out of the office, as the fox faunus led him to the room next door. It was another office – seemingly Corsac's own – and from the top drawer of his desk Corsac retrieved a small box.

Opening it revealed a number of white-coloured security cards; ordered specially, these were meant to mark out the huntsman and security personnel protecting the campaign rally.

Anyone else carrying weapons would not be allowed into the rally; further, given the danger that unkonwn semblances could pose, no one with unlocked aura was going to be allowed near the stage from which Blake would be giving her speech – unless they were part of rally security itself, as indicated by possession of these cards.

There were thirty of these cards in the box; Corsac took out fifteen, and transferred them to a plastic bag, which he then handed to Jaune.

"I trust you will distribute these to our friends in the security services, and to the other huntsman team whose help you have secured."

"Of course. I'll also call the rally organizers, and update them on the security situation. May I use your office for that?"

"You are more than welcome to, Jaune. Now if you will excuse me, I must be getting back to my work. Even a losing campaign needs to be run well, after all."

With a wry smile and that self-deprecating remark made in parting, Corsac left Jaune alone in the office.

Pulling out his scroll, Jaune made the call to his contact at the Schnee political action committee, which Jacques Schnee had set up to support the Belladonna campaign.

Campaign finance regulations restricted the amount of funding that individuals and organizations could given to individual campaigns; however, there were no limits to the money that could be channelled to independent expenditure political action committees like the one Jacques had set up. These committees could spend as much as they wanted on supporting their preferred candidates, so long as no coordination occurred between campaign and committee – there could be no direct discussion to plan the production of a campaign advertisement, for example.

All this gave the rich outsized influence on politics, and it was no doubt unfair. Blake herself had found the whole arrangement distasteful, but also had no choice but to consent to it – for without Schnee money, they had no hope for electoral victory.

The rally tonight was itself organized by the Schnee political action committee, not the Belladonna campaign – Blake was merely an invited speaker. That was pushing the limits of the law, but Jaune supposed that when you had the best lawyers money could by, the law was not quite so binding a constraint.

Jaune's call connected, and the impatient, caustic voice of the Schnee political action committee's director greeted his ears.

"Arc. Is Albain chickening out of the rally tonight, or not?"

"The rally's happening –"

"Good. Can't let ourselves be cowed by terrorist scum."

Jaune's mouth twisted; despite himself, he was annoyed by the bravado – it was easy for the man to make such bold statements, when it wasn't his own life on the line. Sharply, Jaune replied,

"Yet we have to take the threat seriously. On our end, we've sourced three private huntsman teams to protect the rally; and this on top of the five-member Ace-Ops team the government is supplying. All of them – as well as any other aura-capable individuals like myself involved in the campaign – will be issued these white security cards. I'll send a picture of what these look like over to you; ensure your security checkers are familiar with them. Anyone else who doesn't have them must be diverted to the separate viewing areas for huntsmen."

Despite the man's bravado, he was no fool; he understood the seriousness of the threat, and promised to ensure that the security measures would be implemented without fail.

The call ended soon after, and Jaune turned his mind to his next meeting – which, if he were lucky, would be as brief and to the point as the ones he had just been having.

Jaune turned to leave the office, before remembering an vital task he had almost forgotten to carry out.

Heading over to Corsac's desk, Jaune opened the top drawer. He did so while wrapping his hand with the plastic bag that his share of the security cards came in; this allowed him to pull at the drawer's handle without risking leaving any thumbprints behind. That done, he retrieved an additional security card from the box, and slipped it into his pocket.

_A gift, for our unwanted guest later._

Jaune closed the drawer, and then left the room with his bag of the original fifteen cards Corsac had given him for distribution.

As he did, the loud roar of an approaching bullhead started reverberating through the Belladonna campaign headquarters.

It was perfect timing, and Jaune picked up his pace, as he made his way out of the building.

When he walked out the front doors, it was just in time to see five individuals leap from the bullhead, to land gracefully on the ground.

There was a broad-shouldered man in a sleeveless vest; a tall thin man with pale skin and strange tattoos; a thickset woman with dusky skin; a much shorter, slighter woman who had mostly dark hair but also specially-styled blond front locks in the shape of a rabbit's ears; and finally, a dog faunus with a bushy tail and green hair falling artlessly to his shoulders.

It was the Ace-Ops, and Jaune had made sure to look up their weapons and semblances the moment he had learnt they were assigned to protect the rally.

"Arc."

Their leader Clover Ebi strode up towards Jaune, his tone curt. That, and the hard faces all around, made it eminently clear Jaune had no friends here.

It was hardly a surprise. Loyalty to one's team was the cardinal virtue amongst huntsman, and to them, abandoning one's team to pursue glory – as Jaune was reputed to have done – made him worse than scum.

He hence dispensed utterly with the pleasantries. His voice impassive, he intoned,

"Here are your identifying security cards."

Jaune tossed each of the Ace Operatives a white card from his bag. Then, directing his words to their team leader Ebi, Jaune said,

"The other three huntsman teams will also be issued these. As would have been communicated to you previously, one of those huntsman teams will be providing overwatch from a nearby rooftop, while the other two will be with your team down at the rally itself. All three on-site teams will be under your command, but the overwatch team will answer directly to Corsac Albain."

The latter was a lie; Team RVLY was going to be acting under Jaune's instructions – but the Ace-Ops did not need to know that. The last thing Jaune needed now was for Atlas's elite to kick up a fuss about a non-huntsman – let alone a disgraced former student – arrogating command over a huntsman team.

Ebi considered Jaune; the man's teal eyes betrayed no emotion, as the Ace-Ops leader went on to say,

"The arrangement is noted. But you have to understand, Arc – don't get in our way. You aren't a huntsman anymore, and if you turn up tonight with your sword – that's illegal, and we _will_ arrest you."

It was a blunt reminder of his status as a civilian, and of his no longer being entitled to bear weapons.

As for why Ebi felt the need to drive the point home – Jaune suspected that the Ace-Ops weren't so much concerned at the prospect of a terrorist attack, which they could doubtlessly handle with ease, so much as their chances of capturing any potential attackers alive. To track Taurus down, the Ace-Ops needed information from White Fang prisoners – and that was something unlikely to happen if any attack was met by an Arc wielding Anra steel, with no compunctions over cutting people through their auras.

If Ebi knew of the contingency Jaune had prepared for any terrorist attacks, the man would doubtlessly blow his gasket.

Regardless, Jaune only said, blandly,

"I'm happy to leave my sword at home. Now, if that's all, I have other matters to attend to."

Without waiting for a response, Jaune started walking away.

The Ace-Ops did not stop him, though he could sense their contemptuous stares burning into his back as he strode off.

Their scorn was nothing to him, and already Jaune's mind was turning to the third and final meeting he was having that afternoon.

Catching the train once more, Jaune headed back to his apartment in the industrial district. There, he put on a disguise meaningfully different from what had used that morning – just in case the police were on a manhunt for the suspicious individual who had infiltrated VBI headquarters that morning. His hair he dyed red; his eyes he transformed with green-coloured contact lenses, thicker eye tapes as well as chic looking glasses; and his chin he covered with fake stubble.

After his preparations were complete, he headed for the south-western part of the residential districts, where his target lived, alone.

The train ride there was passed in solemn concentration, as Jaune ran through, in his mind, the arguments he needed to make, and the words he needed to say – to move this woman towards thinking the unthinkable and doing the unspeakable.

There was no certainty that this would work; but the odds were good, and Jaune was confident of success.

Much of that confidence stemmed from having personally met the woman in question – and from judging her to be a conspiratorial-minded bigot who nonetheless cared deeply for her teammates.

His target lived in an upscale condominium complex – one overflowing with greenery, and which overlooked the river from a distance. It was a beautiful place, but there was hardly any time to enjoy the sights, given the quick pace Jaune set as he made his way through the grounds. He headed towards a building at its centre, where he then rode the elevator up, to the floor on which his target lived.

Her apartment was tucked away at one corner of the floor. Navigating his way there through unfamiliar corridors, Jaune then rang the apartment's bell.

He waited patiently, even as the seconds ticked by. She was at home, he could tell; her aura signature blazed from within the apartment, after all.

That signature approached him, now, and –

The door opened, to reveal a familiar face.

An ugly scar ran across Ellen Nevrand's left cheek, from near the corner of her mouth to right next to her ear. Incurred in her duel against Jaune himself, from that night at the airbase, the injury gave the twisted impression that she was smiling, when the woman was doing anything but.

Injury aside, however, Nevrand was striking – what with her violet irises set in almond-shaped eyes, her dark blue hair cut dashingly short, and her sharp, aristocratic features engendering a certain indescribable elegance. Her clothes were undeniably stylish as well, from the duellist gloves, to the high-cut jacket, to the knee-high boots.

Indeed, she would have been the very image of the ideal huntress, and would have seemed the very pinnacle of professionalism, had it not been for the strong smell of alcohol wafting from her mouth.

"What do you want?"

Despite her inebriation, Ellen Nevrand's tone was cutting, and her gaze sharp. And from the way one gloved hand fingered the rapier at her waist, Jaune could tell that he was fast outstaying his welcome, even before a single word had been spoken on his part.

Eager to avoid getting the door slammed in his face, Jaune did the one thing guaranteed to hold Nevrand's attention.

His left hand came up, index and little fingers extended in parallel, even as his right middle finger unfurled to overlay them at a right angle – thereby forming a rude and brazen _H_.

Any ordinary person would have been taken aback; and yet Ellen Nevrand did not so much as blink, let alone look askance, as the infamous salute of human supremacy was flashed in front of her face.

If anything, she looked intrigued, and that led Jaune to say,

"My name is John. And I just want you to know, Ellen Nevrand, that you are not alone. You are not the only one whose has been brutally attacked by the White Fang. You are not the only one who has grown fed up with the favourism that society lavishes upon the faunus, even as we humans suffer reverse racism. And you are not the only one whose forebears fought bravely and died nobly for the cause of humanity in the Faunus Wars – before those traitorous politicians stabbed us in the back, and made that unjust peace."

By this point, Nevrand's eyes were bright and alert, and she was hanging on to his every last word.

"May I come in, Ms Nevrand? We have much to talk about, and I think you'll be interested in hearing about this plan that's afoot by our brothers and sisters – to kill Blake Belladonna, and end her miserable existence."

The woman's eyes widened, now –

– and then she gave a fierce and feral smile.

"Well, well. Perhaps today won't be a total waste. Come in"

She let him into the apartment; and as she did, she asked,

"So how did you find me, _John_?"

From the way she spoke that name made it clear she did not believe it to be real.

In reply, Jaune said,

"I work for the Vale Bureau of Investigation. You're on their list of suspected human supremacists, and that's how I managed to track you down."

Jaune handed her a scroll – not his personal one, but a spare device, onto which he had uploaded the counter-terrorism dossier that the VBI had on Nevrand.

The woman's eyes narrowed, as she took in Jaune's words. Without speaking, she accepted the scroll, and rapidly read through her own VBI file. The more she read, the more coldly angry she grew.

"So the VBI had its eyes on me? I'm not surprised. I was never a coward that was afraid of speaking up against the animals – even though it _was_ getting harder to get certain huntsman jobs."

Her outrage was displayed upon her face; and yet, perversely, there was grim satisfaction too – the former, at being targeted so; and the latter, at having been proved right that people like her were being unjustly persecuted by a state that loved faunus and hated humans.

Jaune took back his scroll, and as the two of them settled down upon the sofas in Nevrand's living room, Jaune said – in an attempt to play upon the woman's conspiratorial mindset –

"I have no doubt they were discriminating against you and your team. But that's not why I'm here today. You've heard the rumours, right? That there is talk amongst both human nationalist and faunus terrorist groups, about assassinating Blake Belladonna?"

Nevrand nodded, her gaze sharp as she remained attentive to his words. Meeting her eyes, Jaune said, with dead seriousness.

"Well, the VBI has warned the Belladonna campaign, and they're ramping up security at their rally tonight, the final one of the campaign. All aura-capable individuals will be segregated from the main audience, and put into a separate viewing area far away from the stage. Unless, of course, you're part of the campaign's own huntsman security teams, as identified by one of _these_."

From the sofa he was sat on, Jaune leaned forward, to slide across the coffee table a white security card – the very one he had stolen from Corsac less than an hour earlier.

Nevrand was far from a fool. She understood what an opportunity that unassuming piece of plastic offered. Her eyes glinting, she said,

"So you have a way into the rally. That's a good start. But the Belladonna girl is a huntress-in-training; a poor one, maybe, but she'll sense the attack coming the moment anyone aims their gun at her."

Jaune nodded. Even when a huntsman's aura was not consciously activated, their aura sense was capable of warning them of incipient danger. Jaune had been saved by this very capability before – such as when it let him get his aura up, to counter Neo's ambush at that soiree so many months ago.

Modern huntsmen called it the _danger sense_, while in the old tongue of Eastern Mistral it was poetically named the _whispered warning_; and then in times past it had been more superstitiously styled the _divine counsel_ – but whatever you called it, the fact remained that the ability was far from foolproof. Jaune said much, to Nevrand.

"Belladonna will indeed sense your attack and protect herself with aura – _if_ you let your mind focus upon killing her. But if you clear your mind, and concentrate on the idea of shooting nothing in particular –"

Jaune brought his right hand up in the shape of a gun, his index finger – the barrel – pointing to the side, into thin air.

"– and only then let your weapon drift towards Belladonna –"

The imaginary gun formed by his right hand strayed in the direction of Nevrand, until it was pointing straight at her forehead. With a jerk of his hand, Jaune mimed the firing of the gun.

"... then you should be able to get your shot in, without her having prior warning."

A huntsman's passive danger sense picked up upon others' intention to hurt them, but was useless against harm that was not explicitly intended. Aura would not warn you, for instance, if a drunk driver was barrelling down upon you from the back, or if your old gas stove was faulty and about to explode.

On her part, Nevrand took in his advice silently, nodding slowly as she did.

"I see. I've heard that there were ways like this, to kill huntsmen despite their aura sense... but I did not believe they were real."

"Oh, they are. The VBI foils assassinations all the time, after all, and it is our business to know how the terrorists operate."

The lie came naturally to Jaune; the truth, meanwhile, was altogether more mundane. The Arcs had been perfecting the way of the blade for over hundreds of years, and that meant his family had developed a strong understanding of aura and its limits.

Nevrand, in any case, looked somewhat uneasy at the thought of huntsmen being killed so easily –

– though that disquiet disappeared soon enough, once the woman re-focused on what mattered to her, in the form of Blake's assassination.

Zeroing in on the heart of the issue, she asked, piercingly,

"And where do I figure in this plan? You didn't come to me for nothing."

Nevrand was perceptive – Jaune had to give her that.

There being no profit in dodging the question, Jaune gave a straight, clear and honest answer –

"I would like to ask you to be the one to carry out this plan – to be the one to pull the trigger, and bury Blake Belladonna six feet under."

His words were blunt; but in response to them, Nevrand only snorted dismissively. Leaning back onto the sofa she was seated upon, she raised one eyebrow.

"And why would I do that? I hate Belladonna, and she's a terrible person with a horrible cause, but that doesn't mean I want to throw my life away killing her."

Nevrand's point was not unreasonable. For the crime of terroristic assassination, one would be imprisoned in the Tower of Tranquillity for the rest of one's life, if not killed outright during the post-assassination fighting – and few people indeed would be willing to brave that.

Jaune needed to raise the stakes, and so he did, by saying,

"Did you know that Blake Belladonna is a former terrorist, one that was part of Sienna Khan's White Fang?"

Nevrand blanched, and seemed ready to interrupt, before Jaune held one hand up to hold her off. Continuing his explanation, he said,

"That's not even the worst of it. To stop the White Fang's terrorism – or at least, to meaningfully reduce it – the Council plans to offer a general amnesty –"

"_What?_"

The outburst from Nevrand came the moment the word _amnesty_ left Jaune's mouth.

The woman's disbelief and outrage radiated out from her, like heat from a fire. Her eyes hardened into flints, and her mouth pulled back into a wordless snarl, Nevrand was clenching her fists so hard they had turned white as bone, and seemed all but ready to explode.

"_Amnestry_? _Pardons_, for those terrorists who have murdered so many innocents? _Forgiveness_, for these murderous animals?"

In the face of her rage, Jaune was calm. Staring her into the eyes, he said, gravely,

"Yes. The Council grows tired of fighting an endless war on terror, and so they're looking to arrange a political settlement – in return for laying down their arms, the White Fang will be pardoned for all past crimes and allowed to return to their ordinary lives. Blake Belladonna plays a key role in this – as a former White Fang terrorist who has successfully transitioned to a normal, peaceful life, and as Ghira's daughter, she'll be crucial in persuading the White Fang to take the deal. And that's why we need to kill her; why _you_ –"

Jaune pointed straight at Nevrand.

"– need to kill her. We have to nip this disgraceful plan in the bud, and stop our cowardly politicians from rewarding these dangerous terrorists with amnesty, rather than punishing them with death and destruction as they deserve to be."

Nevrand's jaw was working furiously now. Her hate for the faunus burnt hot, and she could not but agree that this hypothetical peace deal had to be torpedoed. And yet, there was a lingering wariness in her eyes too, a fact made evident when she said,

"Still, the risk..."

Jaune smiled, then.

"Ms Nevrand, we have many friends in the Valean government – including in the attorney-general's chambers. They'll ensure you get a sympathetic jury – stacked full of faunus-haters. That'll let you successfully mount a defence that you were drunk, and only trying to fire your weapon to intimidate the crowd – except that your hand slipped, and a bullet ended up hitting Belladonna.

"And of course, my VBI colleagues and I who are sympathetic to the human power cause, will be sabotaging the investigation every step of the way – destroying physical evidence, altering camera records, intimidating witnesses, and so on. All this put together, you will at worst only get hit with manslaughter charges, and maybe serve a year in a low-security prison."

It was a harebrained scheme, based off the ludicrous premise that there were secret human supremacists hidden away in every layer of government, ready to carry out a plot to benefit one of their own. Still, when one was a conspiracy-addled human supremacist, who believed that humans only lost the Faunus Rights Revolution because cowardly politicians backstabbed the brave soldiers on the war front, or that the maintream media conspired to cover-up crimes committed by faunus against humans...

_To a person like that, everything seems plausible and nothing questionable._

And indeed, Nevrand was nodding solemnly.

"That's not too bad. But even then..."

She was halfway convinced, and now needed but a strong final push.

Jaune hence reached for the decisive argument that was his trump card – his ace-in-the-hole, and the dagger that would deliver the coup de grâce.

"Ms Nevrand, if you will do this great task for the sake of humanity, your courage will be rewarded. I know –"

Jaune brought his voice down low, and made it thrum with sympathy and sorrow.

"– that your teammates are were badly injuried from that White Fang attack. I know that all those resources directed towards saving Blake Belladonna meant that your teammates did not receive healing quickly – causing your partner to suffer a bad infection and further complications. I know that she's struggling to heal; it'll be a long time before she can walk properly again or hold things without pain, and even then, it's likely she'll never be as good a huntress as before."

None of this was a lie, unfortunately. The VBI terrorist screening watchlist had made note of this fact, as a warning sign for how much Ellen Nevrand hated the faunus in general, and Blake Belladonna in particular.

And now, with the bitter look on Nevrand's face, and the pained look in her eyes – Jaune could see how much her teammate mattered to her, and how this situation might well have driven her into further extremism.

It was that that very concern for her teammate that made her vulnerable, however, and Jaune exploited it accordingly.

Meeting Nevrand eye to eye, and with the utmost gravity, he promised,

"So here's the deal, Ms Nevrand. I swear that if you carry out this assassination of Blake Belladonna, our wealthy supporters will come together to pay the best healers in the world, to restore your teammates to perfect health."

Nevrand startled, at this.

"I..."

Despite all the strength she usually projected, her voice now quavered; and it was with deep emotion that she asked,

"Do you really promise to do this?

Jaune nodded, solemnly.

Nevrand choked up. Overwhelmed with emotion, she brought a hand up to her forehead, even as she tried to blink away tears.

It felt uncomfortable, seeing such emotion – such crushing relief, as born of a lie he told, even if it was in woman he disliked for the prejudice she refused to let go.

He almost felt some regret, for his cruel manipulations –

– but he had a job to do, and a goddess to fool. Banishing whatever pathetic pangs of discomfort his wilted conscience was choosing to produce, he waited coolly for Nevrand to give her reply.

And reply she did. Brushing away the trace of tears from the corners of her eyes, she sat up straight.

A whole change in demeanor had overcome her. Her eyes were bright and hard; her mouth was set in a grim, determined line, and her voice itself was strong, and utterly without doubt.

"I'll do it."

Jaune bowed his head, in acknowledgement.

And that was it – the die cast, the river crossed, the point of no reason passed.

His old teammate would consider this a monumental betrayal, but in truth, her feelings did not matter.

The assassination on Blake Belladonna would go ahead, as planned.

Truly, Jaune made a terrible enemy – but an even worse friend.

-(=RWBY=)-


	22. Chapter 2 - City of Light and Shadow XII

Jaune left Ellen Nevrand's apartment soon after the woman committed to the assassination attempt. His whispered lies and velvet manipulations had done their job – and now it was time to see them bear poisonous fruit.

The rest of the afternoon he spent completing a few other minor errands, but once the sun set, and twilight yielded to true night, he made his way over to the football stadium within the Vale 14th assembly district, where the campaign rally was to be held.

The stadium was named Field Mill, for the old flour mill that had once stood in the area, back when sprawling farmland still covered a good portion of Vale. Field Mill stadium was capable of holding ten thousand people – making it far smaller than the Valean national stadium or the home grounds of the major sports teams, while also leaving it easily large enough for the thousand or so rally attendees expected for tonight.

Security was tight, as it ought to have been. The Vale Police Department had set up a security perimeter around the stadium, and no one would be allowed in without first being checked for weapons and examined for aura. And though he could not see them from his position on the ground, Jaune knew that police counter-snipers had been deployed on the rooftops of the stadium; their task was to watch – and be ready to fire upon – vantage points on the surrounding tall buildings, from which long range shots into the stadium could potentially be made. And of course, the police had swept the stadium for bombs, long before the start of the event.

Jaune arrived at the stadium an hour before the rally began. The crowds had not yet materialized – which made it easy to spot Team RVLY waiting for him, in the large, empty parking lot that surrounded the stadium.

"Hey, guys."

As he strode across the parking lot, Jaune waved at his friends in greeting – and prompting them to respond in kind.

"Hi, Jaune!"

"Team RVLY, reporting for duty!"

"Yo."

"Good evening, Jaune."

Team RVLY would not be able to bring their weapons into the stadium without their security cards – which Jaune now moved to distribute.

"Thanks for coming, everyone. Here are the cards that identify you as the huntsmen on duty – do keep these on you at all times."

Team RVLY began attaching the security cards onto their clothes, and as they did, Jaune asked,

"I hope Beacon didn't give you too much trouble?"

Huntsmen-in-training were allowed to take missions only with the school's pemission, and while it was usually just a pro forma matter, the nature of this particular job meant that Beacon could well have rejected Team RVLY's application. The school would not have wanted its first-years caught up in a White Fang attack, or some human supremacist assassination attempt.

Ren, however, only shook his head in response to the question.

"Not at all. We approached Professor Port for approval, as you suggested. He was most enthusiastic."

Jaune nodded in satisfaction. Peter Port had always been the most permissive of the professors. He was also an old-fashioned romantic about what it meant to be a huntsman, and was just the sort to heartily approve of young huntsmen gallantly volunteering to protect the innocent – no matter the perils involved. Hence, Jaune had suggested – and Team RVLY had agreed – to seek Port's approval, over the other teachers'. Asking someone like Goodwitch, in contrast, would have achieved nothing but rejection; strict, severe, and ever-sensible, the deputy headmistress would certainly have forbidden Team RVLY's participation in the mission, on account of the danger and the risk.

Glad that they had made the right call, Jaune said,

"That's good; but it's worth repeating –"

Jaune directed this point to Nora in particular.

"– that whatever happens, please don't jump into the fray. Leave things to the professional huntsmen, and above all, _listen to my instructions_."

His words were delivered with the utmost seriousness, and Team RVLY got the message; they all responded with sober nods, even Nora. And having driven that point home, Jaune proceeded to distribute some mission equipment, of a sort not too different from what the White Fang had used in their airbase raid.

"Here are tactical radios sets for the five of us to communicate amongst ourselves. Press down on the earpiece to talk, but try not to use it unless necessary. The professional huntsmen will be on a separate comms line altogether, but don't worry about them – focus on your own job, and let them do theirs. The cable ties are for securing prisoners, and the first aid kits are for in case you get hurt – but I doubt you'll need either of those if all goes well."

Team RVLY and himself began fitting on the radio sets, and testing the audio out.

Once that was done, Jaune asked,

"Shall we?"

Determined nods from his friends was the answer, and with that, Jaune led them to the entrance area built into the back of the grounds' west stand.

There, in front of the ticket barrier, the police had set up a metal detector and an x-ray machine; they also had an aura-detection device up and running.

Team RVLY and himself got through the security checkpoint without any trouble, once each of them presented their security cards for examination.

Once past the checkpoint, the five of them headed down the nearest entrance tunnel that led through the belly of the stand, out into the interior of the stadium.

The green turf of the football pitch stretched out before them in a neat, rectangular box; and on all four sides were the four stands of the stadium. The largest was the main, west stand which they were at; it held more than half of the stadium's ten thousand seats. Meanwhile, smaller stands about a third that size sat on the north and south ends of the pitch. The smallest stand of all was located on the far eastern side of the pitch; it seemed barely sufficient to hold a few hundred people, as far as Jaune could tell.

The large west stand was where all the ordinary rally-goers would be seated, and consequently the stage from which Blake would give her speech had been set up right in front of it. Meanwhile, all aura-capable individuals were being put into the much smaller east stand – all the way across the pitch, and located as far from Blake as it was possible to be.

As he and Team RVLY walked out from the west stand, and onto the pitch itself, they began passing numerous staffers from the Schnee political action committee – all of whom were in various stages of frenzy, as they rushed to complete last minute rally preparations.

With Ruby and the others following close behind, Jaune headed over to the north stand. Once there, they scaled up the terraces to head up towards the back of the stand. Jaune then located the roof access ladder, which the five of them used to climb up to the roof of the stand.

The night sky extended endlessly above them, the shattered, shining moon in pride of place.

Looking around the roof, Jaune could see that there were two teams of police counter-snipers already in position. One pair was camped right next to the ladder, and watching the factories to the north-west; another pair was on the far side of the rooftop, seemingly scanning the residential dormitories to the north-east.

"Well, here we are."

Jaune gestured out at the roof, from which Team RVLY would be providing sniper cover to the rally.

"Right! I'll start setting up!"

Ruby, ever eager, sped over to the inner edge of the rooftop. Deploying Crescent Rose in its rifle mode, and balancing it atop a tripod she had brought along just for this mission, Ruby began scoping out the stadium below, and checking that she had clear lines of fire into the stadium below. The specially-designed sword-launching railgun, meanwhile, remained slung across her back, out of the way but within easy reach if the situation called for it.

Leaving Ruby to her technical preparations, Jaune turned to the rest of Team RVLY, to say,

"Ren, I suggest you stick close to Ruby all night, so you're in a position to quickly extend your semblance over her. You can also keep an eye on the crowd below, to watch for any suspicious behaviour. Yang, Nora, you guys stand guard at the ladder – in case anyone tries to invade the rooftop."

Ren inclined his head.

"Agreed."

Yang, too, nodded, and said,

"Cool."

Nora, meanwhile, was altogether more enthusiastic in her agreement, by loudly proclaiming –

"Aye aye, captain! Anyone comes up here, we'll break their legs, _and_ their heads!"

Jaune found his lips briefly quirking upwards in amusement, in the face of Nora's unbridled Nora-ness, even as he turned away to survey the stadium below, and consider more serious matters.

The Ace-Ops as well as the other two huntsman teams had not yet arrived, but once they did, they would deploy in force to the east stand, where they could keep a close watch on the aura-capable individuals. With the police already dealing with the more mundane threats of gunmen and snipers and planted bombs, the huntsmen got to concentrate on these aura-capable individuals, and the potential danger they posed.

Jaune knew, of course, that the real threat was going to come elsewhere, but –

The sound of footsteps upon the corrugated steel roof alerted Jaune to a new presence.

Turning around, Jaune found his forehead creasing into a frown, as he was forced to take into account the additional complication that was Qrow Branwen turning up unannounced.

"Uncle Qrow!"

Ruby had craned her neck around to see who had just arrived, and now her face was lit up with surprised delight. Abandoning her weapon, she raced forward to hug her uncle.

"It's so good to you see again!"

"Heh. You too, Kiddo."

The stubbled man ruffled Ruby's hair affectionately, before looking over at his other niece as she strode up. Yang was nowhere near as overexcited as her sister, but the smile on her face spoke for itself, when she said,

"Hey, old man."

Branwen seemed mock-offended by the nickname.

"Who'd you calling old, Firecracker?"

Then, with a knowing grin, Qrow Branwen reached out, telegraphing an attempt to ruffle Yang's precious hair – drawing the expected reaction, when Yang slapped his hand away and huffed in annoyance.

The whole familial exchange was endearing; the sisters clearly loved their uncle, as did the hard-bitten, hard-drinking veteran huntsman love his nieces.

He still found it strange to think that Ruby and Yang were related to the infamous Branwen siblings, but here was the proof, if any was needed.

It was then that Qrow Branwen turned his blood-red eyes towards Jaune.

In a tone even less friendly than what he had used in parting, the last time they met in that restaurant, Qrow growled, in his sandpaper-harsh voice,

"So, Arc. What's this about involving my nieces in nasty White Fang and human supremacist business?"

"Uncle Qrow –"

Ruby made to intercede, but Branwen raised a hand to quiet her, and she fell silent. All this while, the man's eyes never left Jaune's.

Calmly, Jaune responded,

"Ruby and Yang can make their own choices, and they've chosen to help protect their former schoolmate from being assassinated by extremists."

His words served to elicit affirmation from the sisters, who chipped in to say,

"Yep, we're protecting Blake!"

"You can't babysit us forever, Uncle Qrow."

Qrow considered his nieces, before Ren stepped in, to offer,

"There's little risk to us, Mr Branwen. The other three huntsman teams will be responsible for crowd control below, while we're up here, far from where any direct combat is likely to break out."

Ren gestured down at the football pitch and surrounding stands, to emphasize his point

Nora, far less subtle than her long-time friend and partner, butted in with –

"If you're worried, why don't you, like, just help? Who's going to hurt us when a Champion is around?"

The mention of him helping made Qrow Branwen grimace, for some reason.

Instead of answering, he peered over Ruby's shoulder, to examine the sword-launching railgun slung across her back, Branwen's grimace then deepened into profound distaste – especially after he glanced at the empty scabbard at Jaune's waist.

The man wasn't a Champion of Vale for nothing; he connected the dots easily enough.

Still he didn't object; instead, he merely sighed, and said,

"Well, suit yourself, kids. If you're serious about this, I ain't gonna stop you. Won't be standing around babysitting you lot, but I'll help scout the surrounding area, make sure no uninvited guests turn up. Just remember, Arc –

Qrow Branwen's narrowed eyes drilled into Jaune's.

"– if anything bad happens to my nieces or their team, I'm holding you responsible."

The threat was not particularly subtle, nor was it meant to be so – but it only prompted a weary smile from Jaune.

He wouldn't ordinarily respond so politely to threats, but Jaune appreciated that Qrow Branwen was not being deliberately antagonistic here, unlike in their previous meeting at the restaurant. The man was clearly concerned for his nieces, and so, instead of defaulting to a cutting remark, Jaune offered reassurance –

"I know what it's like to lose people I care about. I assure you, Mr Branwen, I'll rather die than let that happen again."

Jaune was sincere, and perhaps Branwen could sense that. Giving a grunt that might have been acknowledgement and annoyance both, the man gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yeah, yeah. Try not to die, any of you."

Jest and warning in equal measure, Branwen's words lingered, even after he vaulted off the side of the stadium roof.

Jaune watched him disappear into the night, unsure if the Champion would be a hindrance to his plans.

Still, with the distraction of her uncle gone, Ruby went back to scoping out the stadium below. Meanwhile, the rest of Team RVLY started up some light-hearted chatter; for better or for worse, they did not seem to take Qrow Branwen's warning seriously.

Jaune spent most of the remaining time before the rally chatting with Team RVLY; but ten minutes to the official start of the event, he got a message on his scroll from Corsac Albain, notifying him that the Faunus Justice Party team had arrived at the venue.

After a quick reminder to Team RVLY to stay alert, Jaune left the roof, to join up with Blake and Corsac down in the stadium below.

By this time, the crowds were large, and growing – more and more people trickling into the stadium, to see Blake Belladonna and listen to her speak.

There were people from all walks of life – faunus in the main, but also humans. There well-dressed professionals, as well as working class folks; men, as well as women; elderly pensioners, as well as bright-eyed students with unbridled enthusiasm.

And there, within the crowd, was the wolf amongst the sheep. Though the sheer number of people made it difficult, Jaune managed to pick out the single unlocked aura signature within the crowd – that single shining star, amongst the sea of lesser lights.

Ellen Nevrand, with a cap pulled low over her head, and with rapier and pistol secured to her belt, stood arms folded at the back of the west stand.

Jaune kept a wary eye on her, even as he made his way to the south stand.

At the stand's western end, there was the players' tunnel. Had this been an ordinary football match and not a political rally, the tunnel would have been crowded, with players lined up in two rows, ready to stride out onto the pitch to the cheers of an excited crowd.

Today, instead, the tunnel was virtually empty, except for a small group of four clustered near the mouth.

It was Blake, Corsac as well as a Belladonna campaign staffer Jaune vaguely recognized; and accompanying them was a harried looking rally staffer who was typing furiously away on her scroll, in apparent communication with the rest of her colleagues.

The woman would tell them when it was time for Blake to exit the tunnel and greet the crowds, but for now, there was only waiting.

"Blake. Corsac."

Jaune greeted them, and got a terse nod from Blake as well as a murmured word of acknowledgement from Corsac.

Both of them were on edge – though whether it was just nervousness from needing the final campaign event to go well, or real agitation over a possible terrorist attack, Jaune could not say.

The ambiguity was resolved in the next moment, when Blake asked,

"Any signs of trouble?"

Jaune shook his head, and said,

"None at all. Things are going smoothly. No one in this stadium is armed except our own huntsmen, while all the aura-capable individuals have been segregated in the east stand, where they're under close watch by the Ace-Ops and our other teams of huntsmen."

Blake looked far from convinced.

"The White Fang might attack anyway. There might be a heavy security presence in the stadium, but Fang has fought against worst odds before."

Jaune only shrugged. That was certainly true, but it changed nothing, and he said so,

"Well, let them try. We'll kill them if they do."

Blake looked at him levelly, before her eyes glanced down to his scabbard.

"With what? Your empty scabbard?"

Jaune grinned wrly; she had him there. Still, he said,

"Don't worry. If an attack happens, I think you'll find that I'll get my hands on a blade quickly enough."

Blake's eyes gave away nothing, but she understood him well enough to know he had made contingencies.

In any event, she said,

"I'm not lending you Gambol Shroud, if that's what you're counting on."

Blake's weapon was strapped to her back. Unlike him, she still held her trainee huntsman licence. Though she would have to give it up once she was elected and had to leave Beacon for good, for the time being she had every right to bear arms in public.

Beyond allowing her to protect herself, it also brought political benefits – people liked their huntsmen, and anything that identified Blake with the profession probably improved her electoral chances.

"I'm not borrowing Gambol Shroud, don't worry – but to be clear, if an happen, you shouldn't be jumping in. Get your aura up, and stay behind me, while the professional huntsmen deal with the problem.

Blake's eye were flat at this point; flat, and unimpressed.

"You want me to be a damsel in distress, hiding behind you? You want me to do nothing, while other people fight and die for my sake?"

Jaune grimaced. He was reminded that ever since Rothenburg, Blake had somewhat of a guilt complex – over not doing enough to save Pyrrha from dying, even while herself surviving. Knowing he had to handle the matter sensitively, he chose to say.

"No one will be dying. Qrow Branwen turned up just now, did you know that? He's helping to scout the area, and with him, myself, the Ace-Ops and the rest our huntsman teams, any terrorists who attack the stadium will be crushed in no time at all. _Your_ role will come after. The rally attendees will be scared, and frightened. You need to speak to them – not just to assure them that they're safe, but also to inspire them, by showing you're not afraid, and affirming that we will never be cowed by terrorists, or those who prefer war to peace."

Jaune found himself increasingly animated, and Blake noticed. Her amber eyes narrowed, and she said,

"You almost seem eager, for a terrorist attack to occur."

_If only you knew._

Still, Jaune only shook his head, before saying,

"Not eager; just prepared. We –"

"Excuse me!"

It was at that moment that the rally staffer accompanying them spoke up, to say.

"It's time, Miss Belladonna. Let's go!"

Blake nodded, and the rally staffer led the way out of the tunnel. Jaune followed, Blake close behind, even as Corsac brought up the rear.

"– and please welcome, Blake Belladonna!"

The rally organizer's words echoed over the stadium's PA system, and as it did, the roar of the crowd came, applause and adulation crashing down like a wave.

As they made their way across the field to the stage set up in front of the west stand, Blake waved to the crowd – and in so doing, earned ever greater clapping and cheering. The love and respect the Belladonna name evoked was impressive, though Jaune did not let it distract him.

His eyes fixed upon Ellen Nevrand in the crowd, and there they stayed, never for a second straying away. The woman had yet to make her move, but until she was safely dealt with, Jaune was going to watch her like a hawk. The moment she raised her gun, he would spring into action, and interpose himself between Blake and the bullet meant for her head.

Their little procession eventually crossed the field, and reached the stage, in front of which was encamped a Vale News Network camera crew eagerly filming the event for live broadcast.

Jaune ascended the stage first, and stood to the side of the podium like the bodyguard he was.

From the edge of his peripheral vision, he could make out Blake as she followed him onto the stage, before shaking the hand of the rally organizer who had helped announce her to the crowd. And then the rally began in earnest, as Blake stepped up to the podium to begin her speech.

"Brothers and sisters, faunus and human friends alike. Thank you for joining me here tonight. Thank you for coming to listen to me speak – about our deeply flawed society, and how we can fix it."

Despite dedicating his attention towards watch Nevrand, Jaune ended up listening to Blake's speech – if only because it was hard to tune out the words being blasted from giant speakers, out to every last corner of the stadium.

Blake spoke of Vale's founding ideals of freedom and equality; of the oppression and racism the faunus nonetheless faced; of the vast gap between lofty aspirations and reality as it was lived, and how it could and should be bridged.

She spoke about how it was important not to despair – about how the cause of freedom had always faced long odds, and triumphed all the same. The initial establishment of democracy itself in the Kingdom of Vale had, after all, been improbable. The country had been poor, and made up of so many different human ethnic groups hostile to each other, and ruled by a powerful aristocracy that would never counternance giving up power – and yet, against all odds, the people had successfully come together to throw off tyranny, and enshrine in its place freedom and democracy.

The faunus could do the same, or so Blake said; they could make Vale live up to its founding ideals, and make it ever more just, ever more free, and ever closer to the perfect society she _knew_ it could be.

It was powerful, uplifting stuff, masterfully crafted and even more beautifully said – it moved even him, and Jaune was a cynic at heart. He didn't think Blake had it in her to be such an orator, but he stood corrected – and she _was_ a politician's daughter, after all.

One person that didn't seem to be impressed was Ellen Nevrand, however.

From his position on the stage, Jaune could see the woman at the back of the stand, shaking her head in disgust.

With his aura active, Jaune could perceive the woman's emotions – the fear, the rage, the hurt, the hate.

And yet –

Nevrand seemed to close her eyes, and _breathe_.

Jaune could almost _see_ how she was clearing her mind, and calming herself; how the dark emotions that had been swirling within her slowly but surely ebbed away, until there was little left that would alert Blake's aura sense that she was about to be attacked.

Nevrand had clearly taken to heart Jaune's advice on how best to conduct an assassination. Such an emotion-clearing strategy might perhaps have failed against a more skilled huntress with a keener aura sense, but Blake was but a talented first-year Huntsman Academy student.

_Here it comes._

Ellen Nevrand reached for the pistol at her waist. Unholstering it smoothly, she then brought it up and aimed – off to the side, initally, before letting the barrel drift levelly towards –

_Now._

Jaune moved.

The force of his lunge left cracks radiating out from where he had been standing on the stage; and his speed left air surging in his wake.

Within a sliver of a second, Jaune was in front of Blake, his body blocking –

_! ! !_

The bullet smashed into his neck, and though his aura prevented any damage, the pain was excruciating all the same.

Fighting through the agony, Jaune used his aura to further enhance the durability of his forearms, while bringing them up to protect his face.

More bullets hit home, but on his aura-enhanced arms – and this time the pain was far less intense, and the drain on his aura much less significant.

But even as he was busy protecting Blake, pandemonium was raging throughout the stadium. Some people were cowering under their seats, while others were making a run for it; and everywhere, there were the screams and shrieks, as fear drove people into a frenzy.

It was already a few seconds after the initial gunshot, and by this time, Nevrand had stopped shooting. There was no point anymore, not with Jaune clearly in the way of her target, and not with Blake herself having gotten her aura up.

"Jaune! Are you alright?"

His former teammate called out to him in worry, even as she came around the podium to stand beside him. Gambol Shroud drawn, she was torn between looking at him in concern, and trying to keep her sights on Ellen Nevrand.

At the same time, over the earpiece of his radio set, Jaune could hear Ruby's surprisingly steely voice.

"Providing covering fire now."

Sniper shots rained down from on high, staggering Nevrand and taking off chunks of her aura.

Jaune could also sense the Ace-Ops racing across the field, trying to get to the threat that was Nevrand, even as the other huntsmen teams were staying put, to continue watching over the aura-capable rally attendees segregated in the east stand.

With the shooter being pinned down and but a few seconds away from getting dogpiled by Atlas's best, Jaune didn't see the need to do much of anything. Instead, he stayed on the stage, right hand holding Blake's left wrist tight, to stop her rushing Ellen Nevrand and possibly getting hurt by the veteran huntress.

It was caution, on Jaune's part; caution that he would soon regret, when –

High above, at the back of the stand, a faunus mother and her son were scrambling away from Nevrand, desperate to get away from the crazed terrorist who had started shooting up the place.

Then, in a move Jaune had been prepared to deal with, but which dismayed him all the same, Ellen Nevrand lunged forward to grab the son, to pull him to her chest.

_A hostage._

"Come any closer and the boy dies!"

Nevrand shouted out the threat, even as her left arm was wrapped around the crying boy's neck to stop him running away, and even as her right hand pressed her pistol into the boy's temple.

Ruby's sniper shots had ceased. The Ace-Ops, who had reached the foot of the stand and were all but ready to rush up the terraces, were now forced to come to a halt.

One false move on anyone's part, and the child would be dead, his brains blown out to paint the ground red.

The crowd – the boy's screaming mother included – was being herded back to safety by various police officers; the last thing anyone wanted was for Nevrand to be able to turn her weapon on the crowd and riddle them with bullets.

Clover Ebi, meanwhile, was shouting at Nevrand in warning.

"If you kill him, your own life is forfeit! But if you surrender peacefully, you will get a fair trial –"

While their leader desperately tried to warn Nevrand away from the precipice, the rest of the Ace-Ops were having a furious conversation over their own radio set. Though Jaune could not make out what precisely was being said, it was obvious that Atlas's elite were trying to determine the best way of rescuing the hostage.

Jaune, of course, had no need for any such deliberation; his plan had long been laid, with the necessary preparations made. Crocea Mors would cut through Ellen Nevrand, her aura being no defence against Anra steel; and with Ren's semblance masking Ruby's emotions and intention to kill, the woman would never see it coming, nor have the time to hurt the hostage out of spite.

Elegant and efficient, his stratagem made an art of execution – and now, there was nothing left other than to make the call.

Pressing two fingers to the activation button on his earpiece, and opening the radio channel to Team RVLY, Jaune spoke.

"Ren, semblance up. Ruby, switch to the railgun and prepare to make the kill-shot."

He gave his instructions, and in return, Ren replied,

"My semblance is activated."

Ruby, however, said,

"Jaune, are you _sure_ we need to resort to this?"

The doubt and worry in her voice spoke of her reluctance as much as her words themselves did, and Jaune grimaced.

Perhaps he should have anticipated this – Ruby was too innocent, too idealistic, to kill someone without qualm.

It was that innocence and idealism that made her easy to guilt-trip, however; and while he did not want to do this to her, an innocent boy's life hung in the balance, and Jaune had no time to be gentle.

Coolly, he said,

"Every other option involves a far higher risk of the hostage dying. So you're welcome to not take the shot, Ruby – _if_ you can live with keeping your own hands clean at the cost of a child getting killed."

There was only silence over the radio, after that.

Yang was the first to break it, by snapping,

"Arc, you're such an asshole. Ruby, you don't have to –"

"No –"

Ruby's voice, quiet but determined, cut through her sister's angry words.

"– it's okay, Yang. I just wanted to check with Jaune that there's no other way. If there isn't, I'll do it."

Yang swore, but Jaune ignored her, in favour of replying.

"Good."

The whole exchange had taken perhaps half a minute, during which the situation had not improved. While the crowd had largely been evacuated, Ebi was making no headway in persuading a cornered and increasing agitated Nevrand to surrender. Ebi's teammates were not helping in this regard; the Ace-Ops – particularly Harriet Bree – had aggressive postures suggesting they were ready to rush Nevrand at a moment's notice, and the woman was not blind to this.

Jaune's team needed to act, and fast – not least before Qrow Branwen returned. The man was still absent from the stadium – still away, scouting the surrounding area – but he could well return at any moment, and Jaune feared that the appearance of a Champion of Vale could well alarm Nevrand into executing the hostage immediately.

Jaune turned to look at the north roof, and Ruby upon it.

"Do it, Ruby. Take the shot."

Ruby did not answer, but Jaune could make out her figure at the edge of the stadium's roof, the railgun hefted and pressed tight against her right shoulder, as she took aim and prepared to fire.

It was the fact that he had turned to look, that probably saved his life, in the end.

The railgun jerked, and as a terrible sense of wrongness seized him, he threw himself back, his right hand reaching out to pull Blake along with him.

_! ! !_

The stage exploded, a meter of sharpened steel smashing into it and turning wood and metal into shards and slivers.

Jaune landed on the ground, hard.

Flat on his back, he found himself staring up at the sky, and blinking away the pain from being hurled into the ground at his own superhuman speed.

Jaune initially thought he had hit his head harder than feared, when a spot of black started dancing within the edges of his vision – but he soon realized it was just the silhouette of a large bird, as it circled in the air against the light of the moon.

Forcing himself to focus, he pushed himself back up onto his feet; beside him, a groaning Blake doing the same, albeit more slowly.

"Jaune! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to – I don't know why it – are you two alright?"

The distraught words of an utterly hysterical Ruby reached him through his earpiece; at the same time, Jaune could see a member of the Ace-Ops – Vine Zeki – detach from his teammates and race towards them, all the while calling out,

"Mr Arc! Miss Belladonna! Are either of you hurt?"

Blake shook her head.

"I'm fine."

On his part, Jaune ignored the pale, tattooed man, in favour of speaking to Ruby over the radio channel.

"Blake and I aren't hurt – but what _happened_, Ruby?"

He tried, but it was hard to keep the anger out of his voice.

He could almost sense Ruby flinch, and her distress was palpable, as she rushed to say,

"I'm sorry, Jaune, I'm so sorry. I don't know why, but the gravity propulsor overloaded on one side when I pulled the trigger, and it threw my aim off badly."

_So badly, she fired upon us standing more than thirty meters away from the actual target._

Jaune shook his head. The railgun was newly-built and experimental, but weapon failures of this sort was rare and almost unheard of – they had been unlucky beyond belief, it would seem.

There was, Jaune noted, an unassuming tear on his hoodie, just over his belly.

His ancestral sword had sliced through it; just a few centimeters further astray, and Jaune would be dead, his guts decorating the stadium pitch.

The close shave was chilling – but there were other things to worry about.

Ignoring Zeki and his pointed warning to evacuate, Jaune leapt into the wreckage of the stage, and retrieved Crocea Mors.

The familiar feel of his sword in his hand was reassuring, even as it did nothing to solve the real problem – the hostage situation, which was deteriorating by the second.

Up at the back of the stand, Ellen Nevrand still had her pistol pressed tightly into the head of her weeping hostage. Her left arm was wrapped fast around the boy's neck, to hold him tight against her; but then – in a move that almost made the Ace-Ops lunge forward in panic – that hand slid down into her belt, to retrieve a large yellow crystal of lightning dust that soon enough began glowing.

"Not sure what your sniper team tried to do, but I've just primed this lightning dust to be ready to blow! My control is all that's stopping it from exploding! It's a dead man's switch, and the moment you attack – even if you knock me out – it explodes, killing the boy!"

Jaune swore, softly. Nevrand wasn't lying; through his aura sense, he could feel the way the lightning was raging within the crystal, barely controlled, barely contained. The moment Nevrand's concentration was disrupted, that crystal would explode into a murderous lightning storm – one that she would survive, but which the aura-less boy most decidedly would not.

"Arc!"

Ebi had turned around now, to shout at him in warning.

"Tell your sniper team to hold their fire!"

Jaune nodded, though he didn't need to be told so – it was obviously a terrible idea, now more than ever, for anyone to try shooting Ellen Nevrand. To Team RVLY, he said, tersely,

"Hold fire. The hostage-taker has set up a dead man's switch – a lightning dust crystal ready to explode the moment she loses control."

Before he was done speaking, Ebi was already turning back to Nevrand, and shouting,

"Look! There's no need for anyone to get hurt. All the huntsmen in the stadium will withdraw, while the police's hostage negotiators arrive – then you can talk things out, peacefully, alright?"

It was an attempt to defuse the immediate situation, and an olive branch of sorts; but Nevrand did not care to accept it, and she made that clear by shouting back,

"Since you suggested it, why not? All of you clear out, except Belladonna, who stays for a chat! Do this now – or the boy dies!"

Beside him, Blake stiffened.

Jaune himself only frowned.

_So that's your plan, Nevrand._

The woman was more cunning than she appeared to be, and Jaune reminded himself to be wary.

Ebi, wisely, did not immediately agree to the woman's demand, or reject it. Instead, he played for time, by saying,

"Give us a moment to talk about this! We'll do our best to accommodate!"

Ebi then gestured with a hand, and led his team in their retreat from the stand, to head towards where Blake and Jaune were standing – beyond the ruined stage, near the middle of the field.

The Ace-Ops fell in before him and Blake, but before Ebi could speak, Jaune seized control of the conversation, and began speaking at a rapid pace.

"The woman's name is Ellen Nevrand, and she's a veteran huntress with extreme anti-faunus views. I ran into her before, at a pub, and she went on this insane rant – about how the Council plans to give amnesty to the White Fang and how Blake's going to help persuade the Fang to take the deal. I thought she just some crazy ranting racist, but clearly she's willing to kill for her beliefs."

Jaune had to slip in the lie about what Nevrand had said to him in their confrontation at Junior's club, to provide a plausible excuse for how he knew all this. Elsewise, everything he just relayed was true. The woman believed the wild conspiracy theory about the Council and Blake, courtesy of Jaune's silver-tongue and the visit he had paid her earlier today.

In any case, Blake and the Ace-Ops listened to Jaune's words with deepening sombreness – perhaps discomfited by the full realization of just how unhinged Ellen Nevrand was.

That detachment from reality did not make the woman any less crafty, however, and Jaune continued to say, as quickly as he could while not garbling his words,

"Obviously, her plan to kill Blake failed, but she would still want to make this 'amnesty' impossible, and I suspect her goal now is to discredit Blake. Offer to release the kid if Blake drops her aura and lets herself get shot – that sort of stuff, something too absurd to accept – just to make Blake seem cowardly, and not a political leader worth listening to. After that, the White Fang won't be persuaded by her asking them to take the 'amnesty'. Remember, they can see what's going on now – the TV cameras are still rolling, and the world is watching."

The VNN camera crew encamped in front of the stage had left their equipment behind during the evacuation of the stadium. But now, even without a person operating it, the tripod-mounted news camera was swivelling to-and-fro – switching, between Nevrand and themselves. Clearly, the enterprising camera crew had switched to remote control – the chance to do a live broadcast of a terrorist attack was too juicy to pass up.

"This will explain why she wants Blake to stay here, alone. It's not as if she can kill Blake anymore, even if we leave the stadium; she cannot deplete Blake's aura reserves faster than we can rush back in and kill her."

Jaune was almost done saying what he needed to say, but before he could reach the main point he wanted to make, Vine Zeki beat him to the punch.

"If all you say is true, Mr Arc, then agreeing to leave Miss Belladonna here will get the hostage killed regardless. The terrorist will simply make her empty offer of hostage trading, and then murder the boy anyway to ruin Miss Belladonna's reputation."

"Exactly."

The upshot of all this was that there was only one choice, really – to rush Nevrand, together, and hope against hope they were fast enough to save the boy from both bullet and bomb.

It was a terrible plan, one which would leave the boy little chance of survival, but –

"No. Wait!"

Blake chose that moment to cut in.

"There's another way. My semblance allows me to create clones. I can stay behind alone and offer to drop my aura and become her hostage – while actually producing a clone and hiding the real me behind the stage. Once she tries to shoot the clone, I'll make it fall, and appear to turn into a corpse. After that, she doesn't need the hostage anymore – she'll let the boy go, and you can arrest her."

The Ace-Ops were all listening intently; they were all clearly taken in by Blake's plan, and the promise of being able to save the hostage.

Jaune himself was far less sanguine, and said, pointedly,

"Your clones aren't sophisticated enough to do any of that. The moment any bullet hits, they'll vanish."

His words elicited a cool stare from Blake, who said, quietly but firmly,

"My shadow clones have improved since Rothenburg. My semblance got stronger after I came back from nearly dying."

"Ah."

Jaune was somewhat taken aback – but not too surprised. Aura and semblances certainly did respond to near-death experiences – as he well knew. It was not too long ago that he had unlocked his own aura by hurling himself off the cliffs of Beacon, and his own semblance had only manifested after the near-coma the Seer attack had put him into.

The Ace-Ops, Jaune realized, was looking at him – _to_ him – as they awaited his assessment of Blake's claim.

Reluctant as he was to put Blake in further danger, Jaune could not help but nod; this was probably their best change of getting the hostage out alive, and the risk to Blake was minimal if they pulled it off well.

Ebi certainly thought so, when he said, firmly,

"Let's do this, then. You ready, Belladonna?"

Blake's nod provided final confirmation, and then Ebi turned to face Nevrand once more, and announced,

"Blake Belladonna is willing to stay and talk to you alone! The rest of us will move out!"

Nevrand had, thus far, been patiently waiting for them to discuss matters – further strengthening Jaune's suspicion that she did have a plan in mind, and was far from doing things in a blind panic.

Her voice tense but controlled, she shouted back,

"Good! Stay away and no one gets hurt!"

Jaune's mouth twisted, at the transparent lie, but he took comfort in the fact that Blake and her semblance would pull through to make that lie the truth – in a way the insane human supremacist would not expect.

Leaving Blake behind, the Ace-Ops started beating a hasty retreat towards the south-western corner of the stadium. They were not bothering to use the entrance tunnels that led through the belly of the stands and then out into stadium exterior; instead, they seemed to be intending to vault over the metal fencing surrounding the stadium.

Team RVLY, meanwhile, exited the stadium in an even more direct fashion. Once Jaune updated them on the plan, they jumped down from the north roof to the ground on the exterior of the stadium.

Jaune himself was in no hurry; he lingered, for a bit, just to say,

"Good luck, Blake. If anything happens, I'll be here instantly."

Amber eyes met his. They were calm, and focused, and determined – though there was also flecks of some emotion he didn't recognize; some nameless shadow amongst the gold.

Blake nodded.

"Thank you, Jaune. But don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

Nevrand's impatient shout interrupted them, then.

"Clear out, Arc, before the boy gets it!"

Jaune spared the woman a glance. The night had started off hopeful and idealistic, with talk of democracy and justice, only for it to end like this, with violence displacing peaceful politics. It was his fault too, of course, but it took two to tango, and the woman before him symbolized everything that made society such a terrible place.

Giving the monster he had unleashed an ironic smile, Jaune finally took his leave.

Instead of joining up with the Ace-Ops, Jaune headed for the south-eastern corner of the stadium. He could see Team RVLY there, just beyond the fencing surrounding the stadium, and watching the events within the stadium with great trepidation.

A leap brought Jaune to the top of the fence, after which he vaulted over and landed on the other side.

"Jaune!"

An anxious Ruby greeted him, and Jaune nodded, without speaking; he was too much on edge, and the moment he was on the outside of the fence, he was already looking back – looking at Blake, standing alone on the pitch, staring down the murderous terrorist.

Blake began walking forward.

When she neared the ruined stage, one Blake detached itself from the other's shadow; and while the former flitted into and under the wreckage, the latter walked climbed onto the ruined stage itself, to face Nevrand and her hostage.

The ruse was perfectly executed; Nevrand wouldn't have seen a thing, what with the ruined stage blocking her line of sight when the real Blake ducked below the stage. Her aura senses, meanwhile, were almost certainly not sufficiently advanced, to be able to spatially locate aura signatures, and to note the presence of a clone. The skill to do was rare, and possessed only by elite huntsmen like the Ace-Ops and those even stronger. Nevrand was certainly not counted amongst their number, else she and her team would never have been stuck doing dead-end guard duty at some military base.

Jaune himself had no difficulty sensing the two aura signatures in the vicinity of the stage – even if both appeared identical. It was part of what made Blake's semblance so potent – even the most skilled huntsmen could be fooled by her clones, and be left open to devastating, blindside attacks. In this case, of course, Jaune's inability to tell real from fake hardly mattered, for Blake would obviously have sent her clone forward, while she hid in the wreckage of the stage.

Their plan was proceeding swimmingly; but even so, Jaune found himself apprehensive, for some reason he could not explain.

It was too far to directly hear what Blake and Nevrand were saying, but Ruby was using her scroll to run the VNN broadcast of what was happening in the stadium, as caught by the remote-controlled camera and its attendant microphone.

"– make this simple, Belladonna, in a way even an animal can understand. I'll trade the boy's life, for yours. Let me kill you, and I let him go; refuse, and I shoot him in the head. You have five seconds to decide if you're too much of a coward to take me up on my deal."

Jaune was right, in his assessment of what Nevrand was gunning for, after her initial assassination attempt had failed. He felt no satisfaction, however, and with increasing apprehension listened as Blake's clone responded to Nevrand, saying –

"No one needs to die because of me. Kill me if you like, but let the boy go afterwards."

Jaune noted the sophistication of the clone. Not only was it capable of movement, it could even speak – a far cry from what they had been capable of before Rothenburg, where lasting even a few seconds was a challenge.

Blake was right; her semblance _had_ improved.

Or –

_Or did it?_

A quiet voice in his head whispered the unthinkable, and Jaune found himself gripping the stadium's fence so tightly it hurt.

It was foolish, irrational nonsense, born of the frustration of having to be a bystander, as Blake faced down a woman who wanted to murder her.

Jaune reminded himself that his teammate wouldn't lie about her semblance's limits. Otherwise, _that_, there, would be Blake in front of the stage, about to be shot in the face – and why would Blake want that?

It was a rhetorical question that Jaune directed towards himself, to reason away the apprehension.

Except –

Blake apologizing, that day in the hospital.

"_I – I'm sorry, Jaune. I couldn't do anything to help her."_

The discussion that night when they were meeting Jacques Schnee; when Blake's survivor's guilt came to the fore, when she insisted – against all reason – that she could have saved Pyrrha from a man who strength rivalled any Champion's.

"_I stood by and did nothing when Rainart killed Pyrrha. Never again... I could have shot at him with Gambol Shroud – drawn his attention, forced him to fight me rather than finish off Pyrrha ... I could have used my clones to misdirect him while Pyrrha got away ... We could have reached you, and then helped you fight him ... So you agree that I was deadweight?"_

What she said to him, just earlier that evening, anger and guilt evidence

"_You want me to be a damsel in distress, hiding behind you? You want me to do nothing, while other people fight and die for my sake?"_

The answer came, perfectly clear, and perfectly horrifying.

She was not going to let anyone else die because of her – and she was going to save the boy, even if it meant giving up her life.

A strangled cry broke out from Jaune's mouth, and he found himself vaulting over the stadium fence over the cries of shock from Team RVLY.

As Jaune landed on the other side, he could sense the aura signature under the stage disappear, while the signature above diminished in intensity, in an indication of aura being deactivated.

_Blake, you fool!_

Jaune burst across the field, his aura pushing him to a shattering, superhuman speed he had not needed, since that fateful day in Rothenburg.

Blake was standing there on the stage calmly, even as Nevrand took aim with her pistol.

A roar left Jaune's throat, and Nevrand's aim wavered – but not enough.

She squeezed out one, two, three shots, before Jaune managed to leap onto the stage and get in front of Blake, his body absorbing the bullets that came after. The pain of those, when they hit him, didn't even register.

"Arc! Out of the way!"

Nevrand's shout of outrage – which only made Jaune want to kill her even more – he nonetheless ignored, in favour of looking back at Blake.

His eyes roved over her to scan for bullet wounds –

– there was just one, just one, over on her right shoulder.

The relief that overcame him then was so profound it made his shoulders slump, and his breath shake.

_Thank the gods._

Between the distraction of his entrance, and the recoil of her pistol, Nevrand had missed two of her three shots, and the one that did land hit nothing vital.

For all that, Jaune was unspeakable, unfathomably thankful. He had already lost one friend and teammate; he did not intend to lose another.

Blake, meanwhile, was clutching her wounded shoulder with a grimace, but was well enough – _alive enough_ – to hiss at him,

"Jaune! What are you doing?"

He shook his head.

"Blake, you fucking moron. What were _you_ doing?"

She, at least, did not try to fool him any longer. Grimly, she answered,

"I'm not going to get anyone else die for my sake. Move aside, Jaune."

At the same time –

"Arc! Last chance! Fuck off, or the boy dies!"

Jaune turned, eyes narrowed to slits and mouth snarling.

He truly wanted nothing better than to race up the stand and kill Ellen Nevrand –

– but the sight of the faunus boy stopped him. The glassy eyes and tear-strained face reminded him that even if Blake was alive the boy could well still die – a victim, of Nevrand's hatred and his own ill-judged scheming.

Jaune breathed in, and out.

_Calm yourself – and think._

His mind raced at screaming speeds, to take stock of the situation and identify the optimal solution to the problem.

One small mercy was that Nevrand had not just executed the boy outright, and was instead busy trying to get another shot in on Blake. Injuring his teammate had seemingly reawoken the fire of Nevrand's original desire – to kill Blake, and not merely discredit her.

Another mercy was that the Ace-Ops not joined him in confronting Nevrand. They were in a bind, Jaune knew. As elite huntsmen with advanced aura senses, the Ace-Ops could doubtlessly perceive – as Jaune himself did – that the Blake clone underneath the stage had disappeared; it would be obvious by now that it was the real Blake that was injured, and not just a clone pretending to be.

This being so, the Ace-Ops faced an impossible choice with no good options. On the one hand, there could not drag Jaune away and enforce the original agreement with Nevrand – since that just left the real Blake behind to be shot. On the other hand, they could still not rush in, all weapons blazing, to put Nevrand down – since that would get the boy killed.

Given all this, it seemed that the Ace-Ops had defaulted to inaction, though no doubt they were futilely trying to come up with a workable course of action even now.

As for Jaune himself –

His mind settled on a desperate idea. It was terrible, and reckless, and utterly dangerous – but it were no alternatives, and when drowning, even the most frayed lifeline was better than none.

Over his still activated radio set, Jaune issued quick, quiet instructions to Team RVLY.

He had to trust his friends, and their semblances; it was the only way he could think of, to deal with the dead man's switch Nevrand had set up – that lightning dust crystal in her hand, which was primed to explode the moment she lost control.

Of course, Nevrand could just lose her patience and shoot the boy – and so it fell to Jaune, to buy time.

And to that end, he prepared to say that which could cost him his freedom.

"Ellen Nevrand!"

Jaune shouted over at the angry woman pointing a pistol at his face, because she could get too worked up about him ignoring her ultimatum.

"You got played, like a fiddle! You believed all that horseshit about the Council wanting to offer the White Fang amnesty! And why? Because some guy turns up at your house, and tells you so? Because he offers you a way to kill Blake Belladonna?"

Jaune smiled, nastily, even he mimicked the action he had performed that very afternoon, at Nevrand's house, in demonstration of how a huntsman could be assassinated despite their passive danger sense.

In front of a disbelieving Nevrand's eyes, Jaune brought his left hand up in the shape of a gun, his index finger pointing to the side. Then, he let the imaginary gun drift towards Nevrand, until it was pointed straight at her.

"Bang!"

Jaune jerked his right hand up, to mime shooting a gun.

Disbelief turned to incandescent rage, and Nevrand lost it.

"_You_! It was _you_! _You_ did this!"

Nevrand's fury was a sight to behold, as she realized the truth – that Jaune was the mysterious stranger from the afternoon; that she had been played, utterly; and that she had just thrown away her life for a lie, and that in dying she would accomplish nothing.

"What are you talking about, Nevrand? You boasted to me of all this when you confronted me in the basement of Junior's pub, and now you seem to have second thoughts?"

The smug refusal to admit the truth only enraged Nevrand more, and she began firing at him wildly.

Jaune blocked what shots he could, and tanked the rest with his aura.

He welcomed Nevrand's anger, and the bullets aimed for him; every second she wasted trying to kill him, was a second not spent executing the hostage.

Of course, it was risky goading Nevrand with the truth, because that way lay the exposure of all his insanely illegal activities – not least his incitement of assassination.

Still, Jaune had been vague in what he said; he had kept to references only Nevrand would understood, and while they were sufficient to rile her up, the public would have heard nothing particularly incriminating. His cover story, the one he had offered to the Ace-Ops earlier, remained as plausible as ever – Nevrand had accosted him at Junior's club, before going on a rant about various conspiracy theories.

It was his word against Nevrand's, and no one was going to believe her after all that had transpired tonight.

And now, the finale –

While Nevrand had been shooting at him in unrestrained rage, the lightning dust crystal she was grasping in her left hand had been steadily growing brighter by the second.

"I'll kill you, Arc!"

Nevrand screamed at him; with her emotions running wild, and with her control over the dust slipping, it was only a matter of time before the crystal exploded.

But Jaune had bought enough time for all concerned, and in the next moment –

A blur of pink and orange in the form of Nora Valkyrie crashed into Ellen Nevrand.

"NORA SMASH!"

Ren was close behind, his semblance active and shielding the two of them. Between the distraction Jaune provided, and Ren's semblance masking Nora's intention to brutalize her, Nevrand never noticed the sneak attack until it was too late.

Nora's hand closed over the dust crystal, and the orange-haired girl _spasmed_, as an enormous amount of electrical energy surged into her body.

Her semblance of High Voltage kicked in then, and with inhuman strength, Nora wrenched Nevrand's arm away from her body. The offending limb had been wrapped around the faunus boy's neck, to hold him against her, but with it out of the way, the boy slipped to the ground.

It was then that Ren darted in, grabbing the child and spiriting him away to safety. Nevrand tried to bring her pistol around, to shoot at Ren, but she never had the chance to do so.

Still crackling with immense power – and freed from the need to show any restraint, what with the hostage having escaped – Nora swung her left arm around, and punched Ellen Nevrand.

The blow caught Nevrand in the abdomen, and Nora's sheer strength folded the woman in half – before smashing her right into the terraced floor of the stand.

Concrete shattered, and light crackled all over Nevrand's body, as her aura fractured – but it hardly mattered.

During that short, brutal thrashing by Nora upon Nevrand, Jaune had raced up the stand, Crocea Mors in hand.

Sword and swordsman both had no mercy to spare.

Jaune launched himself at Nevrand, his blade flashing –

– and then there was blood, and a huntress, falling.

Nevrand collapsed to the ground, her head split open. Blood poured out, to flow down the terraced steps in a scarlet torrent.

Dispassionately, Jaune watched his enemy's lifeless corpse, as it lay motionless upon the ground.

Where once there had been a living, breathing human with hopes and dreams, now there was but a purposeless heap of meat.

_I did this._

Start to finish, Jaune had orchestrated this conspiracy – pulling the strings, and calling the tune, to lead Nevrand down the dark path to her doom, here on these steps.

_And yet –_

For all that he had caused her death, Jaune felt no grief, no regret. Nevrand's own actions had shown her to be a deadly threat to society, and in dying the woman had done far more good than if she had continued living.

But if icy equanimity came easy for him, it did not do so for Nora.

Beside him, his former schoolmate was staring at Nevrand's corpse, and looking queasy.

It was hard for Jaune to remember, sometimes, but for psychologically normal people, every death was a tragedy, and killing felt repugnant, even when necessary.

Wanting to offer reassurance, Jaune reached out, and clasped Nora on the shoulder, before saying,

"Good job, Nora. The boy is safe, and Blake too – and that's all that matters, in the end."

"Yeah..."

Nora didn't sound fully convinced, but Jaune didn't press the matter. He could offer his perspective, but it would ultimately have to be Nora herself who came to terms with what had happened.

Leaving Nora to her thoughts, Jaune headed down the steps of the stand, to check on Blake.

The medics had rushed onto the field the moment Nevrand went down, and were just about started to treat Blake. The Ace-Ops were there as well; they all looked angry, and Ebi was raging –

"What were you thinking, Belladonna? You would have died!"

The man's disbelief – and anger – was very much understandable.

Jaune had felt exactly the same, when he had first realized Blake's deception.

Now, however, it was only melancholy that he felt.

Jaune knew, more than anyone else, just what had driven Blake to such insanity. It was the very thing that had made him dive, auraless, off the cliffs of Beacon – made him risk his life, just for the chance to be a hero that could save others.

_The need to know you're not a hypocrite, nor a coward._

Unpleasant memories, long suppressed, began surfacing once more, and Jaune's mouth tightened, as he had to actively force his mind to stop wandering down dark roads.

There was, in any case, still work to do.

The sympathy from the attack – not to mention Blake's own insane courage – would lift her political standing, and her polling numbers, to comfortably win her the election.

It was all as he had intended, and all as he had planned; now there was just some closing theatrics to conduct.

"Blake."

Stepping into the circle the Ace-Ops had formed around the medics and Blake, Jaune interrupted Ebi mid-rant.

The man looked at him irately, before shaking his head in frustration, and letting Jaune go ahead; perhaps he thought that he, as Blake's friend and former teammate, would have better luck making her see sense.

That was, of course, not Jaune's intention, and when he kneeled down beside Blake, he quietly said,

"As we discussed earlier, in the event of a terrorist attack, you need to speak to the people –"

Jaune nodded towards the still-running TV camera not too far away.

"– to reassure them that they're safe, and to inspire them, about how we'll never let ourselves be intimidated by violence or –"

"Jaune –"

Blake interrupted him.

"– enough. I didn't try to save the boy just to let us score cheap political points."

"Blake –"

He tried to get a word in, but Blake scowled, and said, harshly,

"I'm not going to milk this, alright?"

Jaune's mouth set itself into a flat line. He hadn't anticipated this unwillingness on Blake's part, but if she was too scrupulous to politically exploit the aftermath of the assassination...

... well, he could do it himself.

Standing, Jaune strode over to the TV camera in front of the ruined stage.

"Jaune!"

Blake's shouted warning went unheeded, as Jaune spoke into the dark glass of the camera lens – and through it, the audience watching them.

"People of Vale. A human supremacist terrorist just tried to assassinate Blake Belladonna, a candidate in the Vale 14th assembly district election. And though the assassin failed, she managed to gravely injure Blake –"

Jaune held out an arm, to gesture at his teammate and her wounded shoulder, while the remote-operated camera panned to her obligingly.

"– and in the process, also take a young boy hostage."

Jaune pointed across the field, and once more the camera followed his direction, this time to focus on the faunus boy still clinging tearfully to Ren.

"But make no mistake –"

The camera turned back to him, now, as his unseen audience drank in his words.

"– this was not just an attack against Blake Belladonna; it was an attack against all of us, and Valean democracy itself."

Jaune paused, and searched for the right words – before settling on reiterating the part of Blake's speech from earlier, which he had found so inspiring.

"Many of you would have tuned in only after the terrorist attack, and would have missed Blake Belladonna's speech earlier in the evening – but what she said then is worth repeating."

Jaune looked into the camera – and spoke to the people he knew were listening, from the rally-goers congregated outside the stadium to those watching at home.

"As Blake said, Vale's democracy is a miracle that should never have happened. We were so poor, for so long – everyone was always too concerned with survival and putting food on the table, to even think about demanding freedom. We were a dozen faunus tribes, and a hundred human ethnicities, spread across the continent – all too hostile to each other, to come together and fight for the right to rule ourselves. And to make matters worse, the Kings of Vale and the aristocracy supporting the throne have never been the enlightened sort – few amongst their number were willing to entertain liberalization, and the granting of rights to us peasants."

It was a grandiose, almost pretentious speech, and Jaune felt somewhat foolish making it.

_But –_

If he had learnt anything at all, from being forced by Watts into getting involved with politics, it was that words mattered. After all, it wasn't his strength or his skill, his sword or his semblance, that had made the difference in the various tasks put to him by Watts. Rather, it was fine words and clever arguments, cold reason and emotional manipulation, that had brought him success – in convincing Blake to run; in persuading Jacques Schnee to part with his money; and finally, in inducing Ellen Nevrand to kill an innocent girl.

All words; _his_ words – and now, they wove one final spell.

"So how did we do it, in the end? How did we overthrow the tyranny of the Kings of Vale, even if there were false starts along the way? Well, because of brave people willing to sacrifice their lives to stand up for what's right. And that sort of bravery we still need today – not just from our huntsmen, in the fight against the Grimm; but also from our politicians, in the fight to improve our lives. And that's why I'm asking you to vote for Blake Belladonna –"

Jaune gestured at his teammate, whose frown was even now deepening.

"– who dropped her aura and let herself get shot – and almost killed – just to save the life of a young boy she had never before met. I –"

"_Jaune!_"

Blake was angry now; furious, in a way he had rarely seen her.

"Stop embarassing yourself – embarassing _me_! I'm not a hero just because some crazed human terrorist tried to kill me!"

As Blake hissed at him in admonishment, Jaune only shrugged – before turning to the camera, and the audience who could be their judge.

"Blake Belladonna says she's not a hero, and I disagree. What do you think, people of Vale?"

Jaune was hardly finished speaking, when suddenly, a roar of overtook them – as a titanic wave of cheers and claps washed in from outside the stadium.

It was the rally-goers still congregated outside the stadium, making their opinion heard.

In the face of overwhelming public approval and acclamation, Blake's could no longer credibly protest, and she fell silent instead.

And it was then that Jaune knew he had won.

All the lies and machinations; all the death and destruction – they had paid off. Blake would be elected, to do some real good for both faunus and humans, while he was one step closer to infiltrating Salem's inner circle.

As thunderous applause continued to reverberate throught the stadium, Jaune drank it all in; though it was for Blake and not for him, Jaune let himself enjoy it, as the proof that all he had done had been worth it in the end.

And yet –

He could not forget the blood on his sword, nor the woman he had made into a corpse.

Necessary sacrifices, for the greater good, and without which the world could not be saved or bettered.

That much Jaune was rationally convinced of, and that much his mind understood –

– but he could stop his heart from doubting, or himself from wondering, whether he would be so keen on such sacrifices when it was himself on the line. As a huntsman, he had certainly risked his life, time and again – but only when he had a plan, as in the Beacon initiation; or else when he had no choice, as in Rothenburg; or else when the risk was trivial, as when he fought common huntsmen like Nevrand whose strength could never match his own.

Jaune had never had to accept the certainty of his own death, as the price to pay to save other people – as Blake had so courageous done, when she faced down Nevrand.

_Would I be so brave, in her position? Would I give up my life, for others?_

And _that_ fact, _that_ doubt – it ate him, utterly. It was the poison in his soul, the darkness in his heart – the ever-present companion of his life the Domremy Collapse, when he did unspeakable things to survive.

Jaune glanced at Blake.

She was not the only one who could not escape the past. For her, it was Rothenburg she was trapped in; for Jaune, it was Domremy he could never leave.

The applause from the crowd outside the stadium was still going strong.

But where before Jaune was enjoying it, now the adulation was as ashes on his tongue.

And he was resolved –

_One day, like Blake, I will earn this._

He was not a coward, nor a hypocrite – and if he needed to, he would die to prove it.

-(=RWBY=)-

A/N: I've recently been in talks with a literary agent to get an original novel of mine published. While I'm optimistic, I do have to do a lot of rewriting to get the novel into a publishable state - leaving me little time for writing fanfiction. Expect updates to Queen of Air and Darkness to be more infrequent and irregular going forward - apologies for that.


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